The Other Side of Reality
by BloodyFlickingAndSwishing
Summary: Harry is trapped in every way under the rule of Lord Voldemort. Now he has been summoned to an Alternate Universe where everything is at once so much better and so much worse. As the events of his world threaten to repeat themselves, how can Harry save this universe, when he couldn't even save his own? Sister fic to The Will of All Others.
1. Prologue: A Dubious Decision

**Please Read: ** I've called this story a sequel to The Will of All Others, but it's** actually more of a parallel timeline beginning at about Chapter 9 of The Will of All Others**. Either way, it will definitely be helpful to read that first so you know what's going on. Or, you know, you could just start reading from here and figure it out as you go along, I can't stop you!

One more note: There are going to be two different Harry's in this story, so that's going to be fun for me. I'll try to make it as clear as possible which one I'm referring to, and at the beginnings I'll name which character has the POV. If it's ever unclear, let me know in the reviews and I'll revise it.

**Prologue: A Dubious Decision**

• − ○ ◊ James ◊ ○ − •

Hogwarts was falling apart.

It wasn't something you noticed when you first looked at the castle. It was something you felt. It was a presence of brittleness. Ever since the Reformation of Hogwarts, its old bones had been crumbling. Rome wasn't built in a day. Hogwarts didn't fall in an afternoon. The magic was slowly leeching from the walls.

That's what was running through James' head as he waited in the dungeon for the Order meeting to begin. Those thoughts always ran through his brain in these dungeons. There was something about the dank chill, the low ceilings, the creeping darkness that put him in a sombre mood. Yet here was the wisest place for the Order of the Phoenix to converge.

They sat in relative silence while they waited, but the room was rife with tension. Tonight marked the end of a week of heated debate, harsh rebuttals, and scathing arguments.

At last, Dumbledore entered and took his place at the head of the table. The Order sat up apprehensively. The few scattered conversations ceased. They were a meagre bunch, just ten in number. Ten resistants in a world governed by darkness.

"Place your bets, people," Sirius muttered to only James and Lily could hear. "Will the Wizarding World meet its doom by manner of Lord Voldemort… or some avenging Champion?"

"Shut up, Sirius," said Lily. She was glaring at Dumbledore with guarded eyes. James reached across and squeezed her hand. What Dumbledore had to say tonight could change everything.

"Friends," Dumbledore began, giving a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "We have argued and debated and fought over this matter, but that time is over. I have made my decision, and after I reveal it, I must insist that we get on with whatever must be done without further discussion."

Lily's grip around James' hand was making his fingers throb. Dumbledore readjusted his glasses and gave a furtive glance in their direction before diverting his eyes.

"There is no doubt that we are losing this war," Dumbledore continued slowly. "Hogwarts' defences grow weaker every day, while the Dark Lord grows ever stronger, bound to life by his indestructible horcruxes. If we are to have any chance at restoring the way of the light, we must take drastic action. I sincerely believe we have come to a point where we simply have no other choice, and for that reason I have decided to go ahead with the Summoning Ritual."

James' heart sank. Lily opened her mouth to object, but Dumbledore raised a hand to silence her.

"Please, allow me to finish. I know there are strong opinions over the matter, and there has been some spirited debate. Both sides offer compelling arguments, but nevertheless, my mind is made up. We will use this ritual to summon a Champion of Worlds, someone with the ability to defeat the Dark Lord. It is true we do not know who this ritual will bring, be it friend or foe, which is why we will take every precaution available."

"Where are your ethics?" Lily burst out, leaping to her feet. "You would tear this stranger from their home?"

Dumbledore gave her an imploring look. "It is just one life, Lily," he said. "One life in the place of thousands. You must think of the Greater Good."

Lily had yet to come up with a valid argument to this utilitarianist viewpoint. She turned to the Order members. "Do we not have any faith left in ourselves?"

Most shifted uncomfortably beneath her gaze. Arthur – Kingsley – Peter, none of them would look at her. James understood, in a way. They were all tired, ready for this was to be over, ready for someone else to do the dirty work.

Mad-Eye Moody huffed at Lily. "We'd be stupid not to do this Ritual, Potter! It's practically guaranteed success! This is the fate of the Wizarding World we're talking about," he said.

"I curse the day I found that ruddy ritual, and you will all curse the day you decided to enact it!" said Lily.

She gazed blazingly around at the dimly lit faces, but not one of them would echo her beliefs. She stormed from the room with a flurry of blazing red hair. James remained where he was, torn between his allegiance to the Order and to his wife.

Dumbledore watched Lily go, and turned his ever-twinkling eyes to James. "And what is your viewpoint, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore asked.

James hesitated. Lily had been adamantly against the Ritual from the beginning, but James had always been undecided – not that he would voice this reality in front of Lily.

"I stand by my wife," James said. "But if you idiots have decided to go ahead with this ritual, then I will do my part."

"Then the matter is settled," Dumbledore said. "We will begin preparations immediately."

The Order disbanded soon after to begin their preparations for the Ritual with an air of anticipatory dread. Sirius, however, didn't seem worried. He patted James on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, maybe this will all turn out fine," he said with an easy smile. "Who knows? The lad might be friendly."


	2. Champion of Worlds

**Chapter 1: Champion of Worlds.**

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry had sometimes wondered what it felt like to be a ghost. Now he knew. Or at least, he imagined the feeling was much the same. Just as ghosts were bound to the land of the living, doomed to wonder the earth aimlessly, Harry was chained to life, by a little pendant that sat around Voldemort's neck.

And every second of it was unbearable. It was unbearable to be jolted awake by the Bugle Call. To eat that craggy gruel they called food. To train using Dark Magic. It was unbearable to go out and hunt down Muggleborns and Blood Traitors. To stare at that little pendant sitting around Voldemort's neck – so close, yet so impossibly far. It was unbearable to serve the Monster who was personally responsible for every moment of this unbearable life.

Nevertheless, he persisted. One foot in front of the other, day after day, out of fear of the most unbearable thing of all.

Having a basilisk fang driven through that tiny, little pendant.

He'd taken to imagining outlandish scenarios in his head where he'd seize that pendant, rip from Voldemort's neck. He wouldn't even do anything after that. He'd just hold it, and keep holding it for as long as he could. For ever and ever. Whole again.

He was imagining it right now, as he sat in the dirt leaning against one of the barracks. Ron sat next to him, alongside Neville, Dean, and Seamus. They were conversing idly, but Harry was too lost in his own fantasies to pay attention. They did not attempt to include Harry in the conversation, having learnt long ago that any conversation they did strike up would be more than a little one-sided. Harry stared out at the forest just beyond the wards surrounding Gaunt Camp. The sun was making its slow descent toward the horizon, as though it too were trapped in an infernally endless cycle of rise and set, rise and set.

"I heard Voldemort's overseas," Seamus was saying. "Gone for a little holiday."

"A _holiday?" _Ron scoffed_. "_ Yeah right, he's sipping Pina Coladas on some beach with a flower garland around his neck."

Neville frowned. "You don't suppose he's testing the waters, do you? Looking for new turf?"

"Who cares?" Dean muttered. "All I know is we've got a holiday from the Runes until he gets back."

Harry was so occupied by his own imagination that it was Ron who noticed it first. The pulsing darkness that seemed to materialise mischievously from the earth, pawing at him.

"Um… Harry?" Ron said, shifting away from the smoky tendrils.

Harry recoiled from the darkness and got to his feet. The darkness snaked up his legs, following him like a sentient entity. A sudden chill pervaded the air, the temperature plummeted, and a wind that originated from nowhere gusted through them. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"What's he doing to me now?" Harry muttered, convinced this was the work of Voldemort. A shiver of Goosebumps ran disquietly along his skin. He swished his arms back and forth curiously, watching how the darkness followed and folded in on itself, growing thicker. He tried to step out of it, but still it followed. The air itself seemed to become heavier.

The writhing evanescent tendrils suddenly became solid, snapping around his arms, around his legs, around his chest, forcing the air from his lungs. He gasped and doubled over.

"Bloody hell, Potter!" Seamus exclaimed.

"Do something!" Harry rasped.

He struggled and writhed, released a burst of magic, but the darkness grew and grew. The pressure of it forced him onto his hands and knees, pushing down on him. Panic sparked through his veins. His magic burst and crackled from him. He let it and tried to attack the darkness, but it was impervious to his assault. Then Harry saw something that multiplied his panic tenfold.

Two Death Eaters had left their guarding posts and were charging towards him with raised wands and panicked expressions. They fired off curses at the blackness, shouting angrily. Nothing they did mattered. The darkness grew and grew, and so too did the Death Eater's panic. This was not the work of Voldemort.

Harry wrestled with renewed vigour. The darkness wrapped tighter around his chest. It smothered his vision. His head filled with a chaotic kind of white noise. He was dimly aware of shouting. He writhed relentlessly. He let out a growl of frustration, but it was swallowed by the writhing tendrils.

The darkness suddenly yanked downward, and then he was falling through the earth. Hurtling through space. Yanked along like a puppet on strings. He writhed, seized with panic, struggling relentlessly within a chaotic mass of a blackness that pulsed and writhed along with him.

A chill set deep into his bones. The air in his lungs left him, his insides twisted, his bones compacted. He never ceased his persistent struggling, unable to breathe, unable to _scream._ His stomach heaved. Bile rose in the back of his throat. His eyes burned.

And then the air thinned, his ears popped, and he slammed heavily against a surface that was painfully solid. His stomach recoiled, and he greedily sucked in air through protesting lungs. He coughed and spluttered, desperately swallowing down the urge to throw up. His world was spinning, and the familiar haze of unconsciousness was swimming along the peripherals of his vision.

He forced his eyes open, blinking away the wetness. He tried to make sense of a dark, blurry and spinning world. When that didn't work, he focused on the much simpler but no less difficult task of relearning how to breathe.

"Are you injured?"

Harry started at voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once. He wrenched himself onto his feet – but only made it half way there before the vertigo sent him back to the ground. He reached for a wand that wasn't there, resisting the urge to throw up. He closed his eyes, and tried to force his mind and body to be still.

He opened his eyes, still breathing in ragged gasps. His heart was thumping double time in his chest. He was in a dungeon that felt curiously familiar. It was lit with burning fires in their brackets lining the walls. The ground directly below him was covered with a large and meticulously-carved rune. There was no sign of the speaker. The room was apparently empty, with just a stone staircase that led up to heavy stone door.

"Are you hurt?" the voice came again.

It came from his left. He slowly and cautiously got to his feet, and that's when he noticed it. The ward. Surrounding him in a perfect circle. He was trapped in about two square meters worth of space. And then he could feel them. The presence of people, just beyond the ward. He could just make out urgent whispers, but whoever they were, they were obscured from him. Invisible.

If these anonymous people thought some measly ward would stop him, they were sorely mistaken. He moved toward it.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Harry ignored the voice and raised a hand to the ward, but stopped an inch away from its sizzling surface. He could feel the amount of power within it. It pulsated off the air, tingling the tips of his fingers. It felt ancient. He dropped his hand. Untangling a ward like that would take hours, maybe days.

"Are you hurt?"

"Who are you?" Harry rasped sharply.

"All will be revealed. Are you hurt?"

"_I'm fine_!" he growled, flaying his arms out wide as proof. It wasn't quite true. His shoulder was aching from the force of the impact. He could also feel his bones grating against each other. "What the hell is going on?"

"All will be revealed. What is your name?"

That made Harry pause. "Are you _serious_?"

"You will answer the question."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. Games. Whoever these people were, they were playing games with him. Death Eaters? Rebels? Anyone who had motive to try and kidnap him would also know who the bloody hell he was. "I'm Harry Freaking Potter! Who else?"

Sniggers emanated from the hidden corners of the room. He glanced around with narrowed, paranoid eyes, but could see no one. How many were there? What kind of maddening game were they playing? Had someone actually managed to kidnap him? Could this by the work of the Order? But why would they obscure themselves? He subconsciously moved a hand to the runes on his forearm. He supposed it didn't really matter. Voldemort would piece together what happened eventually and activate the Summoning Rune, and all of this will have been for nothing.

Harry waited, but the voice did not respond. The mutterings only rose. Arguments. Had they not been expecting him? He quickly found himself becoming annoyed by their antics.

The ward suddenly began to shimmer and warp. A wizard was coming through. Harry stepped back apprehensively and felt his magic leap to his fingertips, ready for attack.

And suddenly, all at once, out of nowhere, he was standing in front of Professor Albus Dumbledore.

He wore the same shimmering blue robes and familiar half-moon spectacles. He was just as Harry remembered. Identical, down to the twinkling eyes, the silvery beard, and the pointed elvish shoes. All the breath left him. He didn't dare to believe it. It had to be a joke, a lie, a trick. Albus Dumbledore had been alive. All this time.

"Professor Dumbledore–" Harry choked out. "I thought – I thought– "

A lump formed in the back of his throat. He couldn't stand it. Professor Dumbledore had always believed in him, been his mentor, his guide. And Harry had repaid him by becoming the very thing Professor Dumbledore had hoped Harry would destroy. A dark wizard. A monster. How ashamed must Professor Dumbledore be of him, after all he'd done?

"Breathe, my boy," Professor Dumbledore said kindly. He placed a hand gently on Harry's shoulder. He felt lightheaded.

"I don't understand," Harry said quietly, gazing at the wizened wizard. He'd seen Dumbledore lying there on the ground, unseeing eyes, wand cast aside.

Professor Dumbledore's inquisitive gaze turned solemn. "I'm afraid I am not the Albus Dumbledore you think I am. This world is not your own. You have just travelled between universes."

Harry blinked. "What?"

Professor Dumbledore sighed. "You are in an alternate universe, my boy. In this world, we have been fighting a terrible war against a Dark Lord. We are on the brink of total annihilation. We have but one last hope. One last chance at victory. We found a ritual which would bring forth a being with the power to defeat the Dark Lord. A Champion of Worlds. A Saviour! You."

Everything was beginning to feel far away, like a dream. Harry stared at Professor Dumbledore, waiting for the joke to reveal itself. For the dream to end. But nothing happened. Professor Dumbledore just continued to gaze at him amiably, waiting for the reality to set in.

"You… _summoned_ me?" Harry said slowly.

"Yes, we brought you to this world through a ritual we discovered in an ancient text. The Ritual would deliver to us a Champion of Worlds. We did not know who it would bring, but I am gladdened and relieved to find that it is-"

Harry pulled sharply away from Professor Dumbledore, curling his hands through his hair. This couldn't be happening. _This couldn't be happening._ He didn't need this. He'd given up! He'd accepted that he would be nothing but Voldemort immortal soldier for all eternity, carrying out Voldemort's grand plans for world domination. This was not part of Voldemort's plans.

"No," Harry said quietly. Then laughed a little, shaking his head feverishly. "No! Absolutely not. _No_!"

He was not a saviour. He'd given up on saving the world long ago, when his soul had been torn in two. He didn't have what it took! He was a soldier, a dark wizard, a monster. The divide between himself and the other half of his soul felt wider, the chasm deeper. He was an entire universe away.

"My boy-"

Harry stood straight and said resolutely, "Send me back. Summon someone else. I am not your hero."

"Now, now, the Ritual must have chosen you for a reason! Of all the beings it could have brought from an infinite number of parallel universes… you must be the most capable!"

Harry shook his head. The shackle clasped around his wrist felt cool and solid beneath his sleeve. "It chose wrong."

Professor Dumbledore's expression turned from concerned to imposing. "It is… unfortunate you feel that way, as I'm afraid therein lies our problem. The ritual behaves as a prophecy. It brings forth a Champion of Worlds with the capability to fulfil our needs, and until that being has completed the deed for which it was summoned, they will not be able to return from whence they came. While we do have a ritual that will send you home, it will not work until you have completed that deed."

Professor Dumbledore stood silent, like a sentry, as Harry digested this. "So," Harry said slowly. "What you're saying is that I can't go home until I've killed Lord Voldemort."

Professor Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "I see our respective universes must be very closely linked indeed, if Voldemort exists in your world as he does ours."

Harry couldn't look him in the eye. He glanced down at his wrists, where he knew the runes lay beneath his sleeve. Would they still work an entire universe away?

"What if I don't want to fight? What if I don't want to go home?" Harry asked. But even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. The gulf between the two halves of his soul had never felt so wide. It made him feel frail and translucent, as though he wasn't really there. He knew that right here, right now, he would do whatever it took to get back to the other half of his soul.

"I'm afraid that refusing to accept our mission would complicate matters," said Professor Dumbledore. "You have come from an unknown universe with an infinite number of possibilities. We cannot adequately ascertain your allegiances, so we cannot in good conscience let you be, for fear that you would run to Voldemort, or pose an even greater threat to the Wizarding World. You do not belong in this world, which means that if your refuse to cooperate, we will have no choice but to send you to Azkaban indefinitely."

Professor Dumbledore held his gaze steadily as he spoke, voice dropping an octave, and Harry knew he was being utterly sincere. A cold pit of dread settled in his stomach. He could think of perhaps one thing that was worse than having a divided soul. Being in the presence of dementors.

Harry swallowed hard and asked, "What if I fail?"

Professor Dumbledore softened. "If you accept our mission but cannot live up to the Ritual, then we may grant you your freedom at our discretion, but you will nevertheless be trapped in this universe."

Trapped. When was he not trapped? This all still felt like a dream. He held onto the dim suspicion that this was some test set up by Voldemort, but surely this situation was too ludicrous. No, what was ludicrous was the idea that Harry of all people would be summoned as the defeater of Voldemort.

"Will you cooperate?" Professor Dumbledore asked.

What choice did he have? He would do anything to get back onto the same plane of existence as his soul. He had to try, didn't he? At the very least, maybe he could convince them not to throw him into Azkaban.

"Yes," he muttered.

"Excellent!" Professor Dumbledore exclaimed, brightening considerably. "Although there is no way to determine whether you are agreeing out of desire to appease us and turn on us sometime down the track. I'm afraid we cannot trust you yet, so I'm going to ask that you provide me with one memory from universe. One moment in your life that shows you are a wizard of the light, and that you can be trusted."

Harry bit his lip as the last three years of his life flashed through his mind. A life of torture, of murder, of _obedience._ If Professor Dumbledore saw any of that, there was no doubt in Harry's mind that he would be thrown into Azkaban without a second glance. A Dark Soldier working for Voldemort could not be trusted. But there was one memory. One moment he could show that wouldn't reveal his status as a soldier for Lord Voldemort.

Professor Dumbledore brought his wand to Harry's temple, and Harry focused as hard as he could on that memory. Professor Dumbledore pulled away the glittering spool of a memory and pressed it to his own temple. Professor Dumbledore's eyes went glassy and far away as the memory entered his mind. As he waited, Harry glanced around at the deceptively empty room, wondering who could be lying beyond, silently watching him, judging him. Could it be the rest of the Order? How similar would these universes be? Did he have an alternate self?

Professor Dumbledore resurfaced. "Very promising," he said. He'd just seen a memory from years ago, just weeks after the Fall of Hogwarts, of Harry adamantly declaring to Voldemort's face that he would never follow the Dark Lord. Of course, Voldemort had since proven him wrong, but Professor Dumbledore didn't need to know that.

"You must have a very strong will, my boy!" said Professor Dumbledore. "Now, why don't you tell me a little about your universe. I had hoped to gain a little more knowledge from your memory."

A mixture of guilt and dread settled in his gut. He couldn't stand there and bear the truth to Albus Dumbledore. "There's no need," Harry said, trying to keep the panic from his voice. "My universe needs me, and I want to go home. I don't want to go to Azkaban so I'll do whatever I can to defeat your Voldemort. That's all you need to know."

Professor Dumbledore eyed him through those half-moon spectacles. It was clear to both of them that Harry was evading the request. Hiding something.

"Very well," Professor Dumbledore said finally. "I will respect your privacy for now, but you must understand that I am concerned with the protection of the Wizarding World."

Harry nodded.

Professor Dumbledore moved to the edge of the ward. "Now then, why don't I introduce you to the Order of the Phoenix?"

Before Harry could object, or stop him, or prepare himself, the ward expanded outward at Professor Dumbledore's touch so that it encompassed the entire room, and Harry was suddenly in room full of ghosts. He first laid eyes on Molly and Arthur, who looked exactly as he remembered. They met his gaze with kind yet hesitantly guarded eyes. Beside them was Mad-Eye Moody, openly glaring at him with both eyes.

Then, looking impossibly young, with a glossy black mane of hair and an easy smile, was Sirius, which made his heart skip a beat.

And next to him stood James Potter.

Which made his heart stop.

James was tall and lean like Harry, with a mop of messy black hair and square glasses perched on his nose. He was in his thirties, with a few grey strands in his hair and laugh lines around his mouth.

But James Potter wasn't laughing. He looked furious. He was glaring at Harry with some kind of incredulous horror. Could his father see through him this easily? Was one look all it took for James to see all that was wrong and broken and dark inside him?

James stepped fiercely forward. Harry took a reflexive step back, heart rising into his throat. James turned his hateful gaze to Professor Dumbledore.

"This!" he spat. "_This_ is why that bloody ritual was a terrible idea! You have just torn my son from his home! He's just a kid, and we've gone and thrown him into the middle of a war!"

Harry realised that James' anger was not directed at him, but at Professor Dumbledore, and promptly remembered how to breathe again.

"The ritual chose him for a reason," Professor Dumbledore said calmly. "A wizard's age is no indication of his power. I am confident your son is the Champion of Worlds we've been looking for."

"Bullshit!" James growled. He turned to Harry and softened. "Harry? Are you alright?"

Harry couldn't speak. A strange sense of detachment came over him as he stared at his reincarnated father. He was too solid. Too real. He was _right there_! James Potter. Father.

He registered dimly that this should be an extremely profound moment. He was meeting his undead father for the first time. It was a moment he'd dreamt of. A moment he'd seen in the Mirror of Erised. It was one of the only things he'd ever wanted. Yet now that it was here, it felt completely wrong.

This wasn't his real father. It couldn't be. It was just an identical counterpart, in an alternate universe. His real father was lying in his grave an entire universe away. This was an impostor. A puppet in a play.

Should he be worried that he can be so rational in the face of meeting his dead father?

"Harry, listen to me," James said. His voice sounded a million miles away. "You don't have to do this. You're my son, which means you belong with the Potter no matter what has happened or where you've come from, you hear me?" He waited for Harry for say something, face full of concern and sympathy. "Harry… Do you need a moment?"

He needed to get out of here. He needed to scream, he needed to cry, her needed to be anywhere but here. His father was too brave, to noble, too pure for the monster Harry had become.

"Don't fool yourself," Harry forced out. "I don't belong here. You owe me nothing."

"Harry James Potter, you are my son-" James began.

"No, I'm not," Harry interrupted, stomaching clenching. "I'm – what did you call it? A Champion of Worlds. You summoned me here for a purpose. I'll do what I was summoned here to do, and then we can all get back to our own lives in our own respective universes."

"In that case, why don't I brief you on the details of this world?" Professor Dumbledore interjected before James could speak.

Harry nodded fervently, tearing his eyes away from James. Professor Dumbledore proceeded to explain the events over the last fifty years. Harry listened with his eyes trained on Professor Dumbledore, feeling the gaze of his father burning into him.

From what Harry could tell, this universe was identical to his own – right up until the night Voldemort had murdered his parents. In this universe, Voldemort had gone after Neville as the obvious barer of the prophecy. He had succeeded in killing Neville and his parents, and had continued his rise to power ever since. He now rules from the shadows indirectly through the figurehead of Minister Fudge. The Aurors still 'fought' against the Death Eaters and such, but anyone with half a brain knew who was really running the Wizarding World.

"The only place truly free of Voldemort's ravages is Hogwarts, which has remained a stronghold against his dark forces," Professor Dumbledore continued. "Two years ago, the school underwent an overhaul, known today as the Reformation of Hogwarts. All those affiliated with the Dark Arts were no longer welcome and cast out, while all those who proclaimed allegiance to the light were allowed to seek asylum within its walls. It has since become not only a school, but a home and refuge for those targeted by Voldemort's forces.

"Within its walls is also where the Order of the Phoenix runs its business. Though the population of Hogwarts is considerable, the Order is small, with few wizards and witches willing to risk their lives in resistance. There are but ten of us. I trust you can understand now why we deemed it necessary to summon you."

Harry glanced around at the Order. They did look a meagre bunch. But could that really justify tearing him from his universe and forcing him into a war? He observed the dimly lit dungeon that had seemed so familiar.

"Are we… are we in Hogwarts right now?" Harry asked, but he already knew the answer. He could feel the thrum of magic beating in the walls. Hogwarts was alive, standing tall. A lump formed in the back of his throat. He was home.


	3. Blood is Thicker

**Chapter 2: Blood is Thicker**

•− ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ −•

Harry was trying and failing to act as naturally as possible as he walked through the halls of Hogwarts alongside his undead father. It was late, so the corridors were still and quiet, yet still he could feel the energy of a castle alive with magic. It sent shivers down his spine, the nostalgia almost painful. It already felt like hours since he'd been summoned, but it had only been minutes. The Order meeting had disbanded, and James had jumped at the opportunity to show Harry to his room to 'get some rest'. As though Harry would be able to sleep after all that had happened.

"Merlin, this is odd," James said as they walked. "This must be so disorienting for you… tell me what I'm like in your universe! And Lily and Holly and Sirius? I'll bet they're similar but… unmistakably different, just like you and my Harry!"

So he did have a counterpart. A Harry who had grown up with his parents, in the sanctuary of Hogwarts, with Professor Dumbledore there to protect him. Harry didn't respond to James' probing chatter, but James was clearly desperate to keep the conversation going.

"Look, Harry, I just wanted to say that we're here for–"

"Don't," Harry interjected, keeping his eyes forward. "Just don't. You don't have to worry about feeling responsible for me just because we share the same DNA."

"I'm pretty sure that's the _only_ reason," James laughed. "What do you think a family is? You're stuck with us whether you like it or not."

His father was pretty much exactly how he'd always imagined. Good-natured, friendly, loyal to a fault, and bursting with mischievousness. Being in his presence just made Harry feel even more monstrous. After all he had done, fighting and killing for Lord Voldemort's. He had disgraced his father's name. He did not deserve his father's love, whether he was alive or not.

James fell reluctantly silent at Harry's lack of a response. Harry gazed at the hallways and peered into classrooms. The school was exactly as he remembered, but there was an elderly quality to the castle. It felt more ancient than it used to. Perhaps he had just grown up. But there were cracks in the walls. Parts of it were crumbling, and the beginnings of weeds and moss were seeping into its bones.

James noticed his gaze and said forlornly, "Hogwarts hasn't been the same since the Reformation. It's been falling apart ever since it stopped being a school."

Harry frowned at that. "Professor Dumbledore said you didn't know who the ritual would bring. You summoned a complete stranger right into the heart of your last stronghold?"

"Hogwarts has ancient protective spells. If the ritual had brought someone who held ill wills, the school would have protected itself. It may be old, but we have faith in the school."

"You shouldn't," Harry muttered, thinking of the Hogwarts in ruins back in his own universe.

James didn't appear to know what to say to that. He studied Harry curiously, then suddenly slowed with concern, eyes on Harry's forehead. "You're hurt," he said, reaching up to inspect the scar.

"I'm fine," Harry said quickly. He jerked away and pushed down his hair. His heart was suddenly thumping in his chest. James continued to study him with furrowed brows. Harry kept his gaze ahead, feeling his father's gaze boring into him, through him.

"Stop it," Harry snapped.

"What?"

"Stop staring at me."

"Sorry," James said. He glanced away and walked onward in a troubled, uncomfortable kind of silence until finally James said, "Here it is."

They'd gone down a narrow corridor filled with a series of simple wooden doors. He opened one of them and allowed Harry into a moderately sized room with a large four-poster double-bed with a trunk at its foot, a desk, and a sitting area with a couch and coffee table. There was a fireplace, as well as a large bay window along the opposite wall. To his left was a second door that presumably led into a bathroom.

It was quite far removed from the tiny cell and cot he'd spent the last three years in.

"What do you think?" James asked. He stood in the doorway while Harry took in the room.

Harry gave a noncommittal shrug.

James brushed a timid hand through his hair – a move Harry was all too familiar with. "Harry, I just want you to know that Lily was opposed to the ritual from the very beginning, and I'm so sorry we didn't fight harder to stop it. We should have. I should have. We should have made them understand that to rip someone from their home and throw them into a war not their own is unforgivable. I just… I wanted you to know that. Not even as my son. Just as… someone who's had an injustice made against them."

He waited for Harry to say something, but Harry had nothing to say.

"We can't change the past, though," James barrelled on. "So I want you to know that we're here for you. If you're anything like my Harry, you're going to want to do this all by yourself and be the hero, but you don't have to do this alone. You obviously want to go home, so Lily and I and the Order will do everything we can to help you with this task. You don't have to be alone, and you don't have to trust Dumbledore. Believe me, that man can be–"

"Professor Dumbledore is the only one I trust," Harry interrupted. He had always respected Professor Dumbledore, and to hear him talked about like that just felt wrong.

James looked as though he wanted to argue the point, but instead said, "Okay, well, why don't you get some rest? Lily and I are down the hall if you need anything at all."

Harry nodded, if only for the hope that it would mean James would leave sooner. James gave him a hesitant smile and lingered in the doorway for a moment as if hoping Harry would say something. When he didn't, James reluctantly strolled off.

Harry stared at the space where his father had been, then moved forward and swiftly clicked the door closed. He pressed his forehead against the wood with a sigh of relief. What a ridiculous situation. Surely he would wake up any moment now. He turned, pressed his back against the door, and slid down to the floor.

His father terrified him. He clearly wanted to get close, to play the part of the friendly father figure, but Harry couldn't let that happen. How would James react when he discovered Harry was a monster? When he saw the shackle? When he discovered Harry's repertoire of dark spells? When he learnt that Harry had been corrupted beyond redemption by the man who he was once again tasked with destroying?

_Lily and James. _

_Mum and Dad._

He couldn't tell them. He couldn't stand to see their faces. Everything anyone had ever told him about his parents was that they were good and pure and moral. How ashamed would the be when they discovered what a disgrace he had become?

No, he would keep them away. He would pretend he didn't care about them. That the sight of them didn't make his knees weak. They were nothing. Just puppets in a show. Impostors he would deal with until he could return to his universe. He wasn't their son. He was their weapon.

He subconsciously moved a hand to the runes carved into wrist. Perhaps the runes would still work. Perhaps Voldemort would discover what had happened and activate the Summoning Rune, summon Harry to his side once again, and then he could forget all of this as some jocose dream.

He found himself hoping that Voldemort would realise soon. He stared at the red lines, willing them to suddenly activate and glow. The absence of his soul was more pronounced than he'd ever felt before. It made him want to claw out of his own skin. He placed a hand over his chest, and tried to feel the beating of his heart. Sometimes it helped, to remind himself of his own flesh and blood.

How in Merlin's name was he supposed to destroy this world's Voldemort? He'd failed in his world, what would make this universe any different?"

•− ○ ◊ James ◊ ○ −•

James found Lily in their room. She was standing before the window, deep in thought with her arms folded across her chest. She turned around when he entered, and waited wordlessly to hear his verdict.

"The ritual worked, and they've agreed to help us. Albus trusts him," James said.

Lily deflated a little. "So I was wrong."

James bit his lip. "No, Lily. You were right. We never should have done this ritual." He stepped closer to her. "It brought Harry."

"Harry who?" Lily asked, eyebrows raised.

"Our Harry," James said slowly. "The ritual brought an alternate version of our son."

Lily turned incredulous. "Harry's not a hero! He's seventeen!"

James didn't know what to say. He stared at the ground and shook his head. "You were right. The ritual was a mistake. We should have stopped them."

Lily started toward the door. "I have to see him – to tell him–"

James caught her by the arm. "You can't. He's not – he doesn't want–"

"He's my son!"

"He doesn't want anything to do with us! There's something not right about him, Lily. He is _nothing_ like our Harry."

"He is still my son!" Lily said.

"Of course! _Of course_," James insisted. "But… you know our son, Lily. If he was suddenly picked up and dropped into another universe, the very first thing he would do would be to find us!"

"So it's just a different kind of Harry."

James frowned at her. "He seems… dark."

Lily scoffed a laugh. "Our son would _never_-"

"He's from another universe, Lily! We're talking about infinite universes! Endless possibilities! The way he acts – he's got this scar that looks cursed – and his eyes… they're not his eyes, Lily."

Lily shook her head dazedly, lifting a hand to her forehead. "What are you talking about?"

James gazed into Lily's emerald eyes, so different to the murky irises of his alternate son. There was a darkness to him. A hardness that had never been in his own son.

"They're not like yours. Not like Harry's. They're darker. Like the work of dark magic."

Lily bit her lip. "Harry James Potter is our son, and we will not stand for Death Eater children. If he's dark, then we'll just have to drag him back to the side of the light, kicking and screaming, if we have to."

James smiled half-heartedly at that. "Do you think this is the prophecy coming back to haunt us?" he asked quietly.

Lily shook her head. "It can't be. That prophecy applied to the Longbottoms. It couldn't apply to Harry."

"Not in this universe," James responded.

She cursed herself once again for showing that ancient Summoning Ritual to Dumbledore. At the time it had seemed like a rare and exciting discovery. Her mistake had been getting the Order's hopes up before doing further research.

Now her son was paying the price.

•− ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ −•

There was a polite knock on the door the next morning. When Harry didn't answer, James opened the door anyway. Harry had been preparing himself all night, but the sight of James still felt like someone had his heart held in an iron grip.

"Oh good, you're awake!" James said in a voice soaked with forced cheer.

Harry was sitting at the bay window. He had not slept at all, instead watching the silent grounds of Hogwarts, wallowing in nostalgia. The sun had already risen, but Harry couldn't bring himself to leave his room, terrified at who he might stumble across.

"You hungry?" James asked. "Come on, I'll show you around a little."

Harry took a steadying breath. _They're all imposters._ _Puppets in a show._ All he had to do was play along. He wordlessly got up and followed James, who led him through the school and pointed out classrooms which had been repurposed into laundries, kitchens, quiet spaces, and more. It seemed that James couldn't keep himself from talking, and babbled endlessly about Hogwarts.

With Voldemort having seized control of the Wizarding World, Hogwarts had by virtue of necessity become completely self-reliant and self-sustaining. The school was run like a society, all of which was run under the leadership of Professor Dumbledore. They even held friendly Quidditch competitions and duelling clubs.

James led him to the Great Hall, but confused him by entering via the side entrance. Why wouldn't the go through the main entrance like everyone else?

A moment later, Harry understood perfectly. He found himself standing on the raised dais beside Professor Dumbledore, before the four long tables filled with wizards and witches of all ages. It had a homely and festive impression. There were no insignias to determine houses.

"Wizards and witches," Professor Dumbledore said grandly, Harry's heart leaping into his throat. He took a step backward, ready to escape, but James was standing behind him, inadvertently blocking the way. "Allow me to introduce a newcomer to Hogwarts," Professor Dumbledore continued. Harry braced himself, hands curling into anxious fists, and waited to be introduced as a cousin or exchange student or something.

"This is Mr Harry Potter. Last night he was summoned as our Champion of Worlds, with the ability to destroy Lord Voldemort once and for all! With our Saviour beside us, I am confident we will bring the light back to these dark times!"

Harry couldn't believe his ears. And neither could the crowd. What was Professor Dumbledore thinking? He'd just put a target square on Harry's back. The onlookers erupted into excited whispers and mutters. He couldn't help but notice their heads swivelling in a very specific direction. He followed their gaze, and was suddenly staring back at himself.

His counterpart had risen from his seat, gaping at him. Harry's chest tightened at the sight of him, surrounded by Ron, and Hermione, and Ginny. They all looked impossibly young, like children.

He tore his gaze away and pushed past James. He escaped down the side entrance and charged through the halls, not quite sure where he was going, but certain that anywhere was better than on that stage. How was he supposed to do this? He wasn't a hero. He'd never been a hero.

He found himself standing in front of the entrance to Professor Dumbledore office. Wasn't it curious how Hogwarts had stayed with him after all these years? He still knew his way around. He paced in front of the entrance until Professor Dumbledore found him.

"You ruined everything!" Harry exploded at him. "If I'm going to have any chance of succeeding, I need to be undercover! You think you don't have spies within these walls? Now I've got a Voldemort-sized target on my back!"

"Perhaps," Professor Dumbledore said easily. He turned to the gargoyles standing guard on either side of the entrance. "Sherbet Lemon."

The gargoyles leapt aside, and Professor Dumbledore entered his office, leaving Harry to follow behind him. Professor Dumbledore took a seat behind his desk and clasped his fingers together, gazing inquisitively at Harry over those half-moon spectacles. The sight of him there filled Harry with a painful sense of Déjà Vu.

"It is true you have undoubtedly been exposed to Voldemort, but I believe you are much better served as a symbol for the light. The Order is made up of just ten members! We must rally the occupants of Hogwarts behind you if we are to defeat this evil. You will be the barer of light, and hope, and love."

There were so many things wrong with what Professor Dumbledore had just said. "I can't be your shining hero – _love_!?" he burst out incredulously.

Professor Dumbledore eyes shone with amusement. "Yes. The Dark Lord cannot love, and that is his weakness. I firmly believe that it is love that will save this world."

Harry had to stop himself from scoffing. There wasn't a day that went by that his Voldemort didn't use the people Harry loved against him. His love was his weakness.

"Regardless – I can't be your symbol," said Harry. He wasn't a saint. He was a monster. There was no part of him that was not broken.

"That is a shame. The ritual must have chosen you for a reason. Of all the beings in all the many alternate realities out there with the ability to destroy Voldemort, it chose you."

"_Holy. Merlin."_

Harry turned to find his counterpart swaggering up to him, and the two sized each other up. Harry immediately hated his counterpart. He was healthier, with a clear forehead and bright eyes. He wore an easy smile, and even stood a little taller, a litter straighter. This was a Harry who had never known hardship. Of course he would have to put up with a counterpart who had everything he didn't. His parents. His freedom. He even had on a pair of square glasses.

James, Lily, and a girl with auburn hair entered behind his counterpart as they looked each other up and down.

"Let me get this straight," his counterpart said. "You guys performed this ritual to bring a defeater of Voldemort… and it brought _me_ from another universe." He cracked a grin. "So why'd you bother with the ritual at all when I've been right here this whole time?"

The girl with auburn hair rolled her eyes. "This is going to go straight to his head," she said with a huff. She folded her arms and said to Harry, "Please tell me you're not as egotistical as your doppelganger. I swear I won't be able to handle a double dose of _him_ every day."

"Aw, come on, Holly! I'm the Champion of Worlds! Defeater of Voldemort! Saviour of the Wizarding World!"

"No you're not!" Holly retorted, then jabbed a finger at Harry. "He is!"

"Are you saying you _want_ to be the grand hero of the entire world?" Harry asked his counterpart incredulously.

He returned his incredulity. "Of course! I'll get to be on a chocolate frog card, and everyone will know my name!"

Harry huffed. "We are _not_ the same person."

His counterpart narrowed his eyes. "Tell me about it. You seem like a dark wizard to me."

"Harry!" said Lily with a scandalised burst.

"What?" his counterpart said defensively. "Just look at him!" he gestured vaguely at Harry as though his mere presence was all the proof he needed.

"Harry, that's enough," Lily said.

Harry stared silently at his counterpart, trying not to panic. After all, his counterpart was correct. He couldn't bring himself to look at Lily. He'd tried to prepare himself for meeting his mother, of course, but now that the moment was here, he couldn't do it. As though one look would be all it would take for the truth to come bursting out of him.

"Let me assure everyone that our Champion of Worlds is one of us," Professor Dumbledore said. "I have seen one of his memories, and can safely say he is a member of the light. He may simply have led a slightly… harder life than our Harry has. I encourage all of you to give him a chance, and get to know him-"

"No getting to know anyone," Harry spoke up. "I'm here for a reason, so can we get on with it already?"

"Come on, now, Harry," said James. "We are your parents-"

"You are _not_ my parents!" Harry burst out with more vehemence than he'd intended. He pointed at his counterpart. "He's your son. I'm your weapon. I don't mean anything to you, and you mean nothing to me."

There was a beat of silence.

"You're right, we are definitely _not_ the same person. I would never be so cruel to my own parents!" said his counterpart.

James placed a hand on his counterpart's shoulder. "Harry, why don't you take your sister and go round up the others for a game of Quidditch or something, hm?"

"Stop cutting me out of everything!" his counterpart turned angrily to his father. "I'm ready to be an Order member! The fact that another version of _me_ was summoned here to defeat Voldemort should be proof enough that…"

The rest of his counterpart's argument with James was lost to Harry. He was staring at the girl with auburn hair.

Holly.

"Sister," he murmured to himself.

Of course he had a sister. Why would James and Lily be content with just one kid? All of this had seemed like some outlandish dream, but the presence of his sister suddenly brought everything into sharp focus. He was very far from home. The idea of a sister had never even occurred to him. What was she like? Did they get along? Was he a good older brother? Did he tease her? Inspire her? Protect her?

"Harry?"

He snapped out of his musings and realised he had been staring at Holly, and Holly was staring straight back at him. They all were. He swallowed hard. He was here for a reason, he had to remember that. He would not be side-tracked by sisters and counterparts and undead parents.

"Horcruxes," he said, turning decisively to Professor Dumbledore. At the old wizard's blank look, he was struck with a horrible thought. "Please tell me you know what a horcrux is."

"Yes, of course," Professor Dumbledore said. "They are shards of Voldemort's soul, and are thus completely indestructible. That is part of the reason we summoned a Champion of Worlds who would have the power to kill Voldemort, despite his horcruxes."

"Harry, you've met Holly before, right?" James asked quietly behind Harry.

_"Despite his horcruxes?_" Harry repeated incredulously. "How do you expect _anyone_ to kill a Dark Lord who's literally immortal?"

"Are you saying you do not have this ability?" Professor Dumbledore asked, eyebrows furrowing.

"Are you saying Holly doesn't exist?" his counterpart asked.

"No I don't have the ability to murder people who have horcruxes! The only way to kill Voldemort is to destroy his horcruxes!"

"But they are indestructible-"

"Of course I exist!" Holly said. "I'm his sister – right?"

"It doesn't matter!" Harry growled at them. "It doesn't matter if I have a sister of if I'm a dark wizard or if I'm Godric Bloody Gryffindor! What matters is that I can't get back to my universe until I defeat Voldemort. What _matters_ is that I don't have some ludicrous ability to kill a Dark Wizard _despite his horcruxes_! Do you people not know how to destroy a horcrux?"

Professor Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "My boy, they are indestructible." He reached into his top drawer and pulled out a small ring with a red ruby encrusted into its surface. Harry could immediately feel the presence of Voldemort's soul weighing down the room. "I have reason to believe this is one of Voldemort's horcruxes. I have been attempting to destroy it for years with no luck… are you telling me you know how to destroy it?"

Harry stared at the ring and had the sudden urge to laugh. Could the ritual have set the bar so low that it literally summoned the first person it could find that knew how to destroy a horcrux? What a sick joke.

"Well, congratulations, this ritual hasn't been a _complete_ waste of time," Harry muttered. He turned to the door only to be confronted by his alternate family. Holly stared up at him fearfully, James and Lily both looked devastated, and his counterpart just looked suspicious.

Harry averted his gaze and pushed past them. "You want to see a horcrux destroyed? I'll be back in a minute," he said.

He had a basilisk to slay.


	4. Do I Want to Know?

**Chapter 3: Do I Want to Know?**

• − ○ ◊ James ◊ ○ − •

"Where do you suppose he's going?" James asked in the wake of his alternate son's departure.

"If only there were some _magical_ way of finding out," his original son said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he pulled out the Marauder's Map.

He laid it across Professor Dumbledore's desk and the five of them peered down at it. They watched as the alternate Harry's footprints snaked their way through the labyrinth of corridors… before turning into the girl's toilets.

"Okay, that's weird," Holly said, turning to her brother accusingly. "What is he doing?"

"How should I know?" Harry said defensively. "As we've already established, he and I have very little – he's gone."

They stared at the parchment in baffled silence. The pair of feet that had previously represented the alternate Harry were gone.

"It's a secret entrance!" James breathed. "The kid knows a secret entrance that we've never found! Oh boy, he's a Potter alright."

"I wonder where it leads," said Holly. "Do you think he knows of others?"

"I don't like this," Lily said anxiously. "Where is he?"

"He could be escaping!" Holly said excitedly.

"Yeah, he could be halfway to Voldemort's secret lair by now," Harry muttered.

"He is not escaping, my young fools, because he is not trapped," said Professor Dumbledore. "If he wanted to leave, he simply could have walked out the front door hours ago. We must have faith. He deserves the benefit of the doubt, if his memories are anything to go by."

James glanced up at Dumbledore. "And what exactly did he show you in that memory?"

"I believe it would be prudent for us to respect his privacy as much as possible."

"Albus," James said slowly. "I'm his father. I deserve to know. I need to know. What happened to him?"

"I'm not sure you truly want to know."

"Don't play games with me," James snapped.

Dumbledore pressed his lips together. "In the memory, he'd been captured by Voldemort, who was attempting to… _persuade_… Harry to join him. Harry refused. Repeatedly."

"That is so _cool_," said Harry.

Lily clipped him over the back of the head. "It is _not_."

James did not need Professor Dumbledore's use of the word _persuade_ to be translated for him. The melodramatic bastard had captured his son and tortured him. Somehow James' counterpart had allowed that to happen. He'd failed as a father. Maybe Harry had a reason for shutting his parents out. Did he hate them for letting him down?

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry crawled out of the Chamber of Secrets, gripping a bloodied basilisk fang. It had been far too easy to slay the basilisk. All he'd had to do was transfigure a rooster and prompt it to crow, and the basilisk had fallen with a window-shattering screech. He sorely wished he'd known that trick back when he was twelve.

He made his way back to Professor Dumbledore's office, ignoring with practiced ease the stares and odd looks he received from the witches and wizards he passed in the halls. Professor Dumbledore and his family were still in his office, waiting for him.

James immediately jumped to his feet. "Where have you been?"

Harry ignored him and picked up the ring on Professor Dumbledore's desk. He set it down in front of him, took a breath, raised the fang, and stabbed it as hard as he could. The ring hissed and fizzled, screaming at a pitch that was painful to the ear. He kept the fang pressed against the metal until it went still and silent. He picked it up. The dark weight that had hung off it a moment ago evaporated. He tossed it back onto the desk.

"Did he just destroy a piece of Voldemort?"

"That was easy!"

"How…?" Professor Dumbledore asked, reverently picking up the ring.

Harry held up the fang. "Basilisk venom."

Professor Dumbledore's eyes went wide. "Where on earth did you find a basilisk fang?"

"You don't want to know," Harry muttered. "Do you know where his other horcruxes are?"

"I only know of one other possible location, the rest are a mystery."

Harry sighed and swallowed down his frustration. "You're telling me that all this time you haven't even been _looking_ for them? What have you been _doing_? Just hiding out here in Hogwarts?"

"It's been a difficult decade, Potter. Most of these witches and wizards have lost everything. We have been resisting Voldemort in every way we could, but our number grows smaller, and we did not know his horcruxes could be destroyed. Hogwarts may be a stronghold for now, but it will not remain that way forever. You are well and truly our last hope."

_Don't say things like that._ Harry sighed and glanced at his wrist. The Voldemort from his universe had yet to activate the runes. What was taking him so long?

Lily stepped earnestly forward. "Harry, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. You're always welcome here, with us."

Harry couldn't bring himself to look at her. "Where is this one other possible location?"

"It is a cave Voldemort once frequented as a child. I tried to enter it myself but… I'm afraid this old wizard's age is catching up to him."

Harry held out his arm. "Take me there."

"Right now?" James asked.

"Why not?"

"It could be dangerous!" Lily said. "What if something happens to you?"

"Summon someone else," Harry deadpanned.

He had a horcrux an entire universe away. He was probably closer to immortality than Voldemort was. Lily didn't know this, however, and looked stricken.

"I'm coming with you," James said.

"That's not necessary."

James smiled condescendingly at him. "I may mean nothing to you, dear Harry, but you sure do mean a hell of a lot to me. I'm coming with you."

Harry scowled. "I don't–"

"That's an excellent idea, James," Professor Dumbledore interrupted. "You and our alternate Harry will go to the cave together."

"Hey, if he's going, I'm going!" Harry's counterpart spoke up.

"No, you're not!" Lily said quickly and forcefully.

"Why not?"

"Because if we both die, they'll go from having two sons, to zero sons," said Harry.

Holly huffed at him. "You have a terrible sense of humour."

"You mean a _dark_ sense of humour," Harry's counterpart interjected.

"Harry, you're staying here, and that's final," James said.

Harry's counterpart glowered at James, but said nothing. Professor Dumbledore held his arms out for James and Harry to take. James held on tight, but Harry hesitated.

"Can I borrow a wand?" he asked. It was marginally painful for him to admit.

James frowned at him. "You don't have one?"

"You summoned me at an unfortunate moment when I didn't have it on me," he explained. It was technically the truth. The soldiers were only permitted wands when they were training or on missions.

James turned to his counterpart and nodded to Harry. "Give him your wand."

"_What_?" his counterpart spluttered.

"It's easy enough to replace it! Just give it to him so we can go."

His counterpart's scowl deepened. He fished his wand out of his pocket and grudgingly held it out. Harry accepted it and seized Professor Dumbledore's forearm, ready to be anywhere but the centre of his counterpart's stony gaze. Professor Dumbledore apparated them onto a rocky ledge beneath a cliff face overlooking a chaotic, swirling ocean. The wind whipped at them from all directions. The spray of salty water was sharp and icy.

"The entrance is just there," Professor Dumbledore shouted over the howling wind. "It will reveal itself when you smear blood across the stones. Good luck, Gentlemen!"

Professor Dumbledore promptly disapparated, leaving the two of them in the howling wind. Harry picked his way to the entrance and James followed, visibly annoyed.

"He may be the most powerful wizard alive, but sometimes he really gets on my nerves," James said.

"He's Dumbledore," Harry shouted over the crashing waves. "He does what he wants."

"And what about what you want?" James returned.

Harry studied the rockface but could see nothing akin to an entrance. "I want to get back to my universe, and this is the only way that's going to happen."

"What if you die in the process?"

"If I die, I won't care anymore, will I? Because I'll be dead."

Harry dragged his wand lightly across his palm, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Hey, I could have done that," James said as Harry dragged his hand across the stones.

Harry ignored him and stepped back as the stones began to shift and crumble in on themselves, revealing a gaping hole that led into a seemingly impenetrable darkness. They both cast a Lumos and entered, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the cold, still darkness.

Harry cast a stronger Lumos and sent it sailing further into the cave. The beam of light arched upward to illuminate a large cavern above a still lake. At the centre stood a rocky island, and at its peak was some kind of podium. The two of them stood on a small precipice, at the bottom of which lay a dingy wooden boat.

got to the oars first, and as he rowed them across the still, pristine lake, Harry peered over the edge into the black water reflecting his own face back at him. There were moments where he swore he could see faces in the water. Just beneath the surface. Sallow, rotting faces that gazed unseeingly back up at him.

At the island, the podium turned out to be an ornate basin, filled with a mysteriously shimmering liquid. A shell-shaped cup sat at the edge of the basin.

"What do you suppose the meaning of this is?" James asked.

"A task."

He picked up the shell and dipped it into the potion. He lifted it to his lips and drank. It burnt all the way down and set his guts roiling.

"What did you do that for?"

"It has to be drunk," Harry rasped, dipping the shell back in. He tipped back the next mouthful. This time it sent the world spinning, setting his insides on fire.

"We don't even know what it is! It could kill you!"

Harry gave him a withering look.

"At least let me help," James said with exasperated urgency, reaching for the shell.

Harry snatched it out of his reach. "No – one of us needs to be ready for whatever will come after," he said, thinking of those rotting faces in the water.

James stood helplessly as Harry dipped the shell back into the basin. "Do you have no concern for your wellbeing at all?"

Harry swallowed down another mouthful, nearly losing his footing. He had no idea what the vile substance was, but he did not doubt that it was killing him. He was glad he'd stopped James from trying to help. Harry had a horcrux to tie him to life, James didn't.

He closed his eyes and choked down another mouthful. His legs gave out from underneath him. He tried to grip onto the basin for support, but slid down it anyway. He closed his eyes to keep his head from spinning. James knelt uncomfortably close to him with a concerned expression.

"Harry? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Harry shoved the shell at him. "Refill it for me."

James did as he was told, but when he offered it to Harry, he couldn't bring himself to take it. "Come on, you insisted on being the one to drink it, now follow through."

Harry glared at him but accepted the shell and threw it back like a shot of firewhiskey. Then he had to focus on not bringing it straight back up again.

"_I hate this universe_!" he growled as he handed the shell back to James.

"From what I can tell, your universe is no picnic either." James refilled the shell and handed it to him. "Last one."

Harry groaned. He recoiled from the potion, head swaying, guts roiling, throat on fire.

"Come on, you can do it," James said. He knelt beside him and lifted the shell close the Harry's lips. "Merlin, I'm getting flashbacks to when you were a baby! Would Harry like one more spoonful of peas?"

Harry blanched and squeezed his eyes shut. Why did he have to say that? He snatched the shell from James and in a fit of stubborn fury choked down the vile potion. He hurled the shell away from him in disgust and wiped his mouth.

"You did it, Harry!" said James. He had gone to the basin, and was holding up Salazar's Locket. "Are you alright?"

"Just thirsty."

"Well, we are surrounded by a lake." James picked his way across the rocks to the water's edge.

"Wait – stop!" Harry said, but it couldn't be helped. The sounds of disturbed water echoed eerily throughout the cavern. Splashes, squelches, groans. James gave a surprised shout and reared back as the dead emerged from the water.

"Time to go!"

James seized Harry and helped him to his feet, but he could barely stand the weight of his own body. James attempted to disapparate, but there was an Anti-Appiration Ward over the cave.

James turned to face the Inferi and stood protectively in front of Harry, as though James was the Champion of Worlds instead of him. The Inferi came stumbling out of the water, an army of sallow faces, gaping maws, skeletal forms.

Harry gripped the basin with white knuckles and tried to focus, but his world was a spectacle of lights sizzling across his vision. He shook his head to try and rid himself of the poison's fog. James was bounding in circles around him, keeping the Inferi at bay with a barrage of colourful spells and curses.

"Incendio!" James bellowed, causing three Inferi to burst into flames and hurtle back into the water.

But the Inferi's numbers were growing. They moaned and groaned with wide, sunken eyes, stumbling and tripping over each other in their bloodlust.

"You're going to need something stronger than that," Harry said hoarsely.

An Inferi evaded James' offences and lunged at Harry, snapping and snarling. Harry levered himself onto the basin and kicked the Inferi with both feet as hard as he could.

James set it alight. "And what exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Champion of Worlds?" he asked as he conjured a gust of wind that sent the Inferi tumbling back into the water.

Harry had an idea. An idea he was going to richly enjoy.

"Get out of the way."

James cast him a questioning glance. He sent two Inferi flying backward, then doubled back. Harry stepped forward, let his magic come flooding through him, and raised his wand.

"_Fiendfyre!_"

The cursed fire burst forth with an audible _whoomph_. It licked and crackled its way through the crowd of Inferi in a matter of seconds, feasting hungrily on their rotted flesh. The Inferi screamed and groaned, bodies flailing. Harry lifted his wand higher and let the stream of fire envelope them. The Inferi went screaming for the water, but they could not escape his fiery wrath.

He'd set the very lake on fire. He relished the feeling of power that came over him. He arced the fire in a large circle around the island, letting it grow and grow. He supposed this was what he had been summoned for. For this power that had been given to him, forced upon him. This was just another way he was dark and monstrous. But, Merlin, it felt _good_.

"Harry, stop!" James roared.

He pointed to the boat, where the Fiendfyre flickered playfully at its edges, threatening to set it alight. Harry hurriedly directed the Fiendfyre away, but needn't have worried. It did not set fire despite the lake burning beneath it.

James shouted, "Come on!" and ran for the boat. Harry followed.

He ended the curse and climbed into the boat as James took up the oars. The heat radiated off the lake as James paddled them across. The sounds of screaming Inferi reverberated off the cavern's walls, filling his eardrums. Harry suddenly became aware that what he'd done was quite grotesque. The Inferi were not human by any means. They were dead, just reanimated corpses, but the way they screamed and flailed felt all too human.

They got out of the Fiendfyre's reaches, and some of the more ambitious Inferi began to prod at the boat. Harry sent them lurching back into the black depths of the lake with Expelling Curses while James rowed. An Inferi burst from the water, screaming with wide eyes and flailing arms, threatening to tip the boat. Harry managed to send it careening back before it could get its rotted, skeletal fingers around him.

A second, much smaller Inferi came lurching from the water in its wake. It was just a boy. Sallow, with sickly streaks of yellow hair streaming across its face. One of its eye sockets had caved in on itself, and suddenly all Harry could see was the boy he'd accidentally killed, screaming bloody revenge.

The boy barrelled into him and sent both of them flying backward into the lake. The moment he connected with the water, skeletal hands reached out, clawing and scraping, latching onto him with impossible strength and pulling him beneath the surface. He struggled blindly, suddenly engulfed by water. The air left his lungs in a rush of bubbles. They dragged and pulled and clawed at him, reaching out of an impossible blackness. A suffocating darkness.

Panic seized him, and through the panic his magic responded instinctively, releasing a pulse of blinding light. The Inferi retreated instantly, and in their wake left a harrowing stillness. The blackness was too complete. It swamped all of his senses. He couldn't tell which way was up. The surface was lost to him. He felt as though he was being summoned again, lost to the will of an immutable force. His lungs screamed with the need for oxygen.

He couldn't drown. He couldn't die! What would happen? Was he doomed to spend eternity in this complete blackness with his lungs on fire? It was almost peaceful, if not for the steadily rising pain, the brewing panic in his chest. Shapes floated in and out of the darkness. Strange creatures, monsters – no, it was just his mind playing tricks on him, his eyes deceiving him.

A hand gripped onto the back of his robes, jolting the rapidly encroaching unconsciousness away. Panic flighted through him. Two hands gripped him. Pulled him down, further and further. He struggled and flailed against the Inferi. He brushed against stone and rock. Suddenly his head broke through the surface of the water. Upside down? He coughed up water and desperately sucked in air. The world suddenly reoriented itself. Down had been up. James had rescued him and dragged him to the edge of the lake.

James helped him further onto the rocks where they both collapsed, panting. After a moment of laboured breathing, James said between breaths, "Are you – glad I came – with you now?"

Harry didn't respond. He couldn't respond. All he could see was that boy-Inferi's broken, screaming face.

"Are you okay?" James asked. Harry nodded mutely. James gave a hesitant smile. "You need us, Harry. It's okay to get help. You just watch – you'll be back in your universe before you know it."

It wasn't exactly a comforting thought, but Harry smiled and tried to mean it anyway. They gingerly made their way out of the cave, toward the light of day. When they were at the edge, James stopped and glanced back at the fiery remnants of the cavern.

"Dark Magic. Of course," James muttered under his breath, but Harry heard. He turned to Harry and said in a louder, falsely optimistic voice, "You know, I'm beginning to appreciate why the ritual brought you in particular."


	5. My Dark Counterpart

Just thought I'd make it explicit that the first bit of this chapter is from the perspective of the alternate Harry, as in, the Harry we've only just met who has a sister and parents who are alive.

**Chapter 4: My Dark Counterpart**

• − ○ ◊ AU Harry ◊ ○ − •

Ginny and Harry crouched underneath the Invisibility Cloak and watched his father and the Champion of Worlds argue. They were in the Infirmary, and both James and his counterpart were sopping wet.

"I don't need a Healer," his counterpart was saying, batting Madam Pomphrey away.

"Harry, we have no idea what that potion was! You could drop dead at any moment!" said James.

"If I was going to die, I'd be dead by now, but I'm not, _so I'm fine_!"

"At least drink this," a young Healer said, holding out a glass.

"What is it?" his counterpart asked suspiciously.

"Water," she said with a complacent smile.

His counterpart accepted the glass, sniffed at it, and took a sip. It was immediately clear that the young Healer had lied to him. He blanched, and Madam Pomphrey pressed a bucket into his hands just before he threw up into it.

His counterpart spat into the bucket and caught his breath. "That was a low blow," he muttered.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but we were going to get that poison out of your system one way or another."

Lily appeared at the entrance and stopped short at the debacle. "What happened?" she asked.

James cast a concerned look at Harry's counterpart, who'd mutely resigned himself to the Healers' fretting, and stepped back to speak quietly with Lily.

"That kid is _mental_," he hissed, out of his counterpart's ear-shot but not out of Harry and Ginny's.

"What happened?" Lily repeated firmly.

"The only way to get the locket was to drink this mysterious poison, and he insisted on doing it himself. Then we were attacked by Inferi, and to subdue them he cast a _Fiendfyre_ and set the whole bloody cave on fire!"

"At least you're both alright," Lily said, taking his hand in hers.

James was not comforted, however. "He's not okay, Lily. Everything he did… it was as though he didn't care whether he lived or died. And the _Fiendfyre_!"

"So you think he really is a dark wizard?"

James shook his head. "No, it's different. It's as though darkness hangs around him… it's difficult to describe. But he's powerful. He's got to be as powerful as Dumbledore!"

"How can that be? Magical prowess is intrinsic to the individual. Our Harry certainly isn't as powerful as that."

"Maybe he's been holding back on us all these years."

Lily gave him a skeptical look. "I doubt that. He's been itching to beat you in a duel since he was eleven."

Harry scowled at his parents from beneath the Invisibility Cloak. He grabbed Ginny's hand and they could manoeuvred as silently as they could out of the Infirmary and down the corridor. They went into the first empty classroom they came across and Harry threw off the Invisibility Cloak with a scowl. Ginny caught it and tossed it over her shoulders.

"Your counterpart sounds kind of badass," she said as she twirled the cloak.

Harry sat heavily on the teacher's chair, dumping his bookbag beside it, and grumbled, "You're not allowed to even _look_ at him."

That just made Ginny laugh. "But is it technically cheating if you're the same person?" she asked. She sat on the desk beside him, legs swinging idly back and forth.

"It _is_ cheating, and I will never forgive you."

"Don't be _jealous_!" she teased.

"I'm not jealous!" Harry said defensively. "Why should I be jealous? Just because he's more powerful than me, more badass than me, and is the saviour I've always aspired to be! What a preposterous suggestion."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Would you really rather be him, puking into a bucket right now?"

Harry shook his head. "No, you heard what Dad said. He's a dark wizard."

"I heard Mr Potter say that darkness 'hangs around him', not that he himself is dark."

"It's the same thing!" Harry huffed, then deflated. "Merlin, he's making me question my entire existence. Like, if he's dark, does that make me dark, too? Does that mean there's something horrible and broken at my core that I simply haven't discovered yet? What if he gets in my head? What if he makes me dark, too?"

Ginny leaned over and cupped his face in her hands so they stared right into each other's eyes. "You are Harry James Potter. Stupidly reckless. Adorably courageous. It will be a truly sad day indeed when you of all people turns dark," she said.

Harry smiled and leaned closer, but before their lips could touch, the door burst open. It was Harry's alternate self. He'd apparently managed to evade the Healers' fretting. He'd turned and slammed the door shut, and was currently preoccupied with casting a myriad of silencing charms and locking spells. Harry seized the Invisibility Cloak still around Ginny's shoulders and threw it over them, gesturing at Ginny to stay silent and hidden.

The other Harry turned back to the apparently empty classroom and strode to the centre, magically shifting the desks and chairs away as he moved. He dropped something to the floor and crouched over it. It was a small green locket Harry assumed must be a horcrux.

His counterpart lifted a gleaming white fang, but hesitated with it suspended above the locket. He appeared to be about to say something, but suddenly changed his mind and leapt to his feet. He took to pacing in front of the locket. Three steps, then pivoting on his heel before taking another three steps and pivoting again.

He stopped abruptly and turned to the locket. "Straps or Posts," he said quietly. He ran a hand through his hair, took a step toward the locket, but instead backed away.

"Stop being such a coward!" he growled to himself.

He sighed, glaring at the locket, then slowly, apprehensively knelt before it. He took a deep breath, raised the fang in a white-knuckled grip, and then did something that sent a cold chill of horror and disgust simmering down Harry's spine.

His counterpart _hissed._

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

"_Open!_"

A black force immediately spewed forth. It snapped and snarled, roiling, contorting, swarming upward. Harry was thrown back. He collided with the wall and the force held him there, struggling blindly, as it materialised into the roiling form of Lord Voldemort. His high-pitched laughter filled the room. Harry struggled against the horcrux's force, but he was a mouse to a cat.

He couldn't understand how this horcrux Voldemort was so powerful. He'd already destroyed the locket back in his universe, and it had not been nearly this powerful. How could this be happening? Was the Voldemort in this universe somehow stronger?

The horcrux form of Voldemort grinned at Harry's confusion. "That's right, Potter. I am not weak like my counterpart in your world. I never made his foolish mistakes! I do not have to rely on the strength of adolescents! I am strong! And you are weak!"

The force grew, pressing him harder against the wall. He struggled against it, tried to let his magic take over. Sparks of magic crackled and sizzled through the air, but it did nothing to deter the apparition.

"Why are you working with the Order, Harry?" Voldemort asked, casual in the wake of Harry's panicked struggling. "They have set you up to fail… so why not come and join me instead?"

Harry laughed in the Dark Lord's face. He eyed the fang lying several meters away. Voldemort followed his gaze and released Harry from his crushing hold.

"You are no hero, Potter," said Voldemort, hovering protectively over his locket.

Harry scrambled to pick up the fang. He lunged recklessly for the locket. The mysterious force snaked out and blocked him, forcing him onto all fours. Voldemort lowered himself down beside him.

"Stop this foolishness, Harry!" Voldemort said, voice dropping low. "You're no saviour. You're a weapon. A monster. A soldier, good for nothing but kneeling before your mast-"

"NO!" Harry cried and flayed his hands.

A burst of magic escaped from him which forced Voldemort to retreat. Harry gasped and got to his feet, glaring determinedly at Voldemort. It was all an illusion. Voldemort was not more powerful than him. Voldemort's horcrux had no intrinsic strength. He only had the power Harry allowed him to have. Voldemort's retreat had shattered the illusion. He was powerless.

Harry moved to the locket. The force of Voldemort came at him again, but this time Harry did not flinch. The force passed right through him. It writhed and contorted around him, but to no affect. He crouched before the locket.

"You're _nothing _without me!" Voldemort howled hysterically. "Your family will never accept you! No one will ever understand!" Harry raised the fang. "_You do this, and you will never be whole again_!"

Voldemort plunged his spidery hand directly into Harry's chest just as he began to lower the fang. He jolted, and stopped dead. He was whole again. Voldemort had wrapped his hands around his heart, and the gaping hole inside him had filled. His soul had been repaired.

Harry released a shuddering gasp, his entire body flooding with relief. Overwhelmed with completion, wholeness, oneness. It felt as though all this time he had been standing on some great precipice, about to fall, in a constant state of suspense, and finally he had been allowed to draw his foot away from the edge, to release.

"There now…" Voldemort hissed in his ear. "I can repair what was broken... put down the fang, Harry..."

He shivered. It was just an illusion. It had to be. His horcrux was an entire universe away. It was just another trick. A manipulation to control him. But it felt so real. He stared at the locket, overwhelmed by the pervasive feeling of completeness. He still had the fang raised over the locket. If he let it fall, all of this would be gone. Perhaps he could delay it a moment… hold onto this feeling for a little longer…

"Drop the fang!" said Voldemort with increasing urgency.

Harry flinched. He swallowed hard, and tried to find the strength in himself to do it. It felt as though he was stabbing his own horcrux instead of Voldemort's. He squeezed his eyes shut, braced him, then plunged the fang into the locket's heart.

Voldemort screamed, and Harry cried out right along with him as his soul shattered and severed into two halves once again. He clawed at his chest, cursing the world and himself. Voldemort crumpled in on himself and shrunk back into the locket with a screeching howl.

The room became deathly still, and in its wake the crushing emptiness came flooding back. It made him feel indistinct, as though he could fade into nothing at any moment.

Ten seconds. He allowed just ten seconds to feel sorry for himself, kneeling on the floor before an empty horcrux, the hollowness of his soul carving out his insides. Then he got up. He scrubbed the wetness from his eyes. He returned the room to its former state. Once he was sure he'd regained his composure, he removed the charms from the door, and went to find Professor Dumbledore.

His counterpart and Ginny flung off the Invisibility Cloak in his wake. They both stared at the space where the Champion of Worlds had been for several beats, both still trying to process what they'd witnessed.

"He's a Parcelmouth," Ginny said quietly. They'd never heard a Parcelmouth speak before, but those hissing intonations were undeniable. It was the one indisputable trait of a dark wizard.

"He really is evil," said Harry. He leapt to his feet. "We have to tell someone!"

"You don't know that he's actually done anything bad," Ginny said.

"We also don't know that he hasn't!"

Ginny looked doubtful. "Would it really change anything? He's given us more hope than we've had in ages. I don't think the Order will want to ruin that just because he might be dark. Professor Dumbledore trusts him, and he _is_ destroying horcruxes."

"This is for the good of the school!" Harry said. "Professor Dumbledore sees the good in everyone – even Voldemort! And Mum and Dad are blinded by their love for me. None of them can see that this guy is clearly evil, but we can, and we're going to prove it."

He reached into his bookbag and pulled out a small journal. It was very nice, with thick pages, a soft leather cover, and a proper binding. Hermione had given it to him for his birthday, but he had yet to think of a suitable use for it. He took out a quill and inkwell.

"We'll start a list of everything we know about him. Everything that proves he's dark. When we've got enough evidence to send him to Azkaban, we'll go to Professor Dumbledore, and make our case."

"How are we supposed to get information?"

Harry gave her a condescendingly disappointed look. "Oh, Ginny. By doing the think we do best. _Mischief_!"

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry laid the locket on Professor Dumbledore's desk and sat heavily in the chair before his desk.

Professor Dumbledore inspected Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "I heard there were some complications in the cave."

"It was nothing we couldn't handle."

"Indeed," said Professor Dumbledore. He picked up the locket. "You are certainly following through on your mission. You have given this world the kind of hope we have not seen in a very long time."

Hope. How curious it was, that he could give others hope while having none of it himself. "That's two out of seven. How _exactly_ do you expect me to find the other five?"

Professor Dumbledore had the courtesy to look ashamed. "I'm afraid I had rather hoped you, the Champion of Worlds, would have the answers to questions like those."

"Then perhaps you should have summoned a sniffer dog instead of a champion," Harry muttered.

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration. They had summoned him here expecting him to ludicrously have all the solutions. He had no idea what he was doing, and now he had no idea how he was supposed to get home. He was going to be stuck in this universe indefinitely.

"We will come up with a plan," Professor Dumbledore said. "We will find a way."

They were empty words, and both of them knew it. Harry wordlessly got up and left Professor Dumbledore to his work. In the Great Hall, the evening feast had just begun. He took a seat away from everyone, doing his best to ignore the blatant stares and whispers. He took in the myriad of choices laid before him and realised he hadn't eaten a single thing since arriving in this universe. There was every kind of roast meat, brass bowls full of spaghetti, mashed potatoes, pie, soup, if he could think of it, it was there. He was spoilt for choice, yet it all looked far too sickly rich. He settled for one of the soups.

"There he is!"

Harry glanced up at the chipper proclamation to find his counterpart glaring down at him, flanked by Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Holly. They sat opposite him, in a long line like a panel of judges. Ginny was fiddling with a little leather journal.

"What do you want?" Harry asked.

"To prove you're a dark wizard," his counterpart replied easily. "Why don't you break the suspense and show us that Dark Mark we all know you have?"

Harry didn't have a Dark Mark. He did have three runes and a shackle which wouldn't do much to help his case. "I'm not a dark wizard."

"Forgive us if we decide not to take your word for it," Ron said haughtily. Harry was struck by his youthful appearance. He'd forgotten how much his Ron scowled. "If you've got nothing to hide, just show us your forearms."

The Great Hall had gotten more crowded. The constant stares put him on edge. "I don't have to prove anything to you," he muttered.

His counterpart, however, had become distracted. He nudged the others and gestured to the entrance, where Fred and George had just entered. A look of understanding passed between them. They raised their hands together and clicked their fingers. Shouts or surprise rose across the Great Hall as every with and wizard's robes turned a painfully saturated shade of hot magenta.

The troupe before him burst into fits of laughter and the indignation swept through the Great Hall. Not even Professor Dumbledore had been spared, though it was hardly any different to his characteristically dazzling robes.

Harry's counterpart frowned at Harry in disappointment. "Why didn't your robes go pink?"

Harry glanced down at his perfectly black robes and shrugged.

"The jinx was designed to target all the residents of Hogwarts," Hermione said. "Maybe he's not seen as a resident."

So his counterpart was a prankster. Harry didn't think he'd ever pulled a practical joke in his life. He felt distinctly out of place among this sea of magenta, so got up to leave, only to find James and Sirius blocking his path. The two strutted up to them, wearing identical pink robes and matching grins.

"Congratulations, Tampertail! This prank was well implemented, but was it well timed?" James said in an insufferably posh tone.

Sirius followed his lead. "Ah yes, the sickly colour is to be commended. However, it seems that one victim has escaped his dole," he said, pinching Harry's black robes.

"I give it a six out of ten!" James declared.

"_Six_?" Harry's counterpart spluttered. "It may not be the most sophisticated prank, but it deserves more than that! We worked hard on this one."

Sirius tutted. "Make than five out of ten for talking back to your father. You had better step it up if you want any chance at thwarting the Weasley Twins."

"What are you people drivelling about?" Harry asked.

"Ah, our Champion of Worlds has yet to be inducted into the Brotherhood of Mischief!" Sirius said, slinging an arm across Harry's shoulders. "Your counterpart and his band of merry assailants here have been in a prank war with the Weasley Twins for years. And I'd watch my back, Mischief Makers," Sirius said, jabbing his finger at the five of them. "I saw the Twins carrying around some suspiciously heavy-looking packages last week."

"Don't worry, we've got something good planned," Harry's counterpart said, glancing at James. "Something involving fluffy flamingos at next week's Quidditch game."

"So do you want to join in the fun, Alternate Harry?" Sirius asked.

Whatever Harry had been about to say died on his lips as James and his counterpart released a guffaw of laughter and jostled each other. There was a comfortable air of trust between them. The presence of a life-time's worth of inside jokes and father-son bonding.

Harry tore his eyes away from the father and son and ducked away from Sirius. He fled the Great Hall, annoyed at himself for getting worked up over something so stupid.

He escaped to his room, ready for this day to be over. He eyed the bed. It looked fit for a king. It was large and wide, with a thick mattress and a soft, fluffy duvet and a mountain of pillows. He wanted to sink into it. But he thought of his tiny cot back in the Barracks, and couldn't bring himself to go near it. Not when all those he'd left behind, Ron, Neville, Dean, were still in Gaunt Camp, sleeping it rough in the cold Barracks. Sleeping on that bed felt like a betrayal, so instead he spent all night at the bay window, and did not once close his eyes.


	6. What Was Left Behind

**Chapter 5: What Was Left Behind**

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry was no stranger to exhaustion, but this was a tiredness that permeated throughout his entire being. It was an exhaustion that knew his purpose, his very reason for being summoned to this world, was becoming increasingly futile. He had no idea how to find these horcruxes, and he had no direction to follow.

He never thought he'd miss Gaunt Camp, but he didn't belong in this universe, in the clutches of his happy alternate family. He could never be at peace with himself in this fantasy world. This farcical play. He had to get home, back to the other half of his soul, and that futile thought is what kept him up.

Of course, it did not help that when he did manage to fall asleep, he was plagued by dreams of a little golden lion with a glittering emerald snake coiled around its body. The longing did not go away. It was a pull that was omnipresent, a craving that left him gasping for air.

Which was why the following morning the Champion of Worlds could be found raiding the Infirmary Potions Cupboard. It had shelves upon shelves, rows upon rows of potions. The only problem was that they seemed to be labelled in some alien language, and he couldn't figure out which ones were Sleeping Potions.

"Well hello there, Thief."

A girl stood behind him, still wearing her magenta robes. She cocked her head curiously at him and placed her hands on her hips. Harry vaguely recognised her as a Slytherin girl who'd been in his year at Hogwarts. Harry turned his attention back to the potions.

"When they said they were summoning a 'Champion of Worlds', I have to admit, I was expecting someone a little more… impressive."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"That's okay," she said, extending her hand. "Daphne Greengrass."

The gesture struck Harry as absurdly formal, but he took her hand and shook it anyway.

"I already know your name," Daphne said, not that Harry had been about to give it. "What's it like having the fate of an entire world resting on your shoulders?"

"Having the fate of the entire world resting on my shoulders is actually my natural state of being."

She laughed and gave him a curious look. "You know, I wouldn't mind travelling to another universe. Having a fresh start. I'd imagine it would be quite refreshing."

Harry shook his head. "You know, a week ago, I would have given anything to have a different life. This isn't exactly what I had it mind."

She smiled at him almost wistfully, tilting her head to the side. "I'm going to break your heart," she said quietly.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. Her eyes flicked to something over Harry's shoulder, and she darted off like a sly fox just as a shadow loomed over him.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" a hoarse voice squawked from behind him.

He turned and found an old woman glaring down at him with a heavily crinkled face and thinning grey hair. Despite a hunched spine and diminished stature, she still managed to loom menacingly over him.

"Just trying to sleep, Ma'am," Harry replied. He reached to inspect another potion.

She batted his hand away. "That's Mrs. Longbottom to you, Mister!"

That made Harry pause. "As in, Augusta Longbottom?"

"That's correct," she squawked with all the authority of a member of the Wizengamot. "And just because you were summoned here to be some saviour doesn't give you a free run of the place! Rules are rules, and only Healers have access to the Potions Cupboard!"

"Sorry," Harry said absently, but he was preoccupied with thoughts of Neville. In this universe, Voldemort had killed Neville and his parents, leaving Neville's Grandmother alone.

Mrs. Longbottom softened. "I suppose I'll let you off the hook just this once." She reached into the cupboard and gave him a small violet vial. "Take this. But don't you go spending all day snoozing – you've got a Dark Lord to defeat! And you better give that man what's coming for him. He killed my whole family, you know."

"Yes, I know," Harry said faintly. "I know your grandson. Voldemort never targeted Neville in my world… we shared a dorm."

Mrs. Longbottom's glassy eyes widened, and her entire face seemed to crack. "Really?" she asked. "What is he like? Does he have his father's handsome looks? What's his favourite subject? Does he want to be an Auror like his mother?"

Harry shifted uneasily. Neville was a soldier. His life wasn't exactly the happiest. But he desperately wanted to do something for this grieving woman. He thought of how he'd always clung to any sliver of information he could get about his parents. Just learning that James wore glasses had been a revelation. It was a longing that didn't go away.

Harry retrieved his wand and pressed it to his temple. He focused on every memory he could think of with Neville, back from their Hogwarts days. Every passing word, every embarrassing incident. He withdrew them in a thin shimmering spool. Mrs. Longbottom recognised what he was doing, and allowed him to press the tip of his wand to her temple.

Her eyes lit up and glassed over as the memories flashed before her eyes. She held a wrinkled hand to her mouth and took several shuddering breaths. Tears streamed along the crevices of her cheeks. "Beautiful boy… my beautiful little boy!"

"What are you doing!?"

The scandalised outburst had come from Lily. She stood in the doorway, staring at the scene transpiring between Harry and the sobbing Mrs. Longbottom, and jumped to the worst conclusion. Harry quickly stepped away.

"He looks just like his father! But he's got his mother's kindness," Mrs. Longbottom babbled. "What a beautiful boy!"

And suddenly she pulled Harry into a bone-crushing embrace. Harry fought the urge to pull away, and awkwardly patted her on the back. Curious, how grief enfeebled even the most dignified of people

"What's going on?" Lily asked.

"This is Augusta Longbottom," Harry said, gently removing himself from Mrs. Longbottom's clutches. "I was just showing her some memories of her grandson, Neville."

Lily's eyes went wide. "You showed her your memories?"

"Thank you, my boy, thank you!" Mrs. Longbottom said tearfully and blew noisily into a handkerchief.

"Anytime," Harry said, and tried to smile. He pocketed the Sleeping Potion and ducked away, but Lily followed him.

"Harry wait," she said, stopping him in the corridor. "Look, I know you want to keep your distance, but I couldn't forgive myself if I didn't at least offer my support. I love you, Harry, no matter where you've come from. You can always come to me if you need anything at all."

"Thanks," Harry muttered.

He dug his hands into his pockets and stared at the ground. Lily was like the sun. Bright, full of warmth, and impossible to look at.

"There's Dark Harry!" his counterpart called.

Harry rolled his eyes and absently rubbed at his prickling scar. "Can everyone just leave me alone?"

"Not until you show us your forearms and prove you're a dark wizard!"

"Kids, please," Lily said exasperatedly. "Harry, give your counterpart some space."

"No!" his counterpart said. "He's evil, and you're too blind to see it."

"Then you're a blithering moron, aren't you?" Harry snapped. He shoved his counterpart back. "Because evil people do bad things to people they don't like, and you haven't exactly been throwing roses at my feet."

His counterpart's expression turned murderous. He withdrew his wand and pointed it square at Harry. "Come on then!" he snarled.

His counterpart squared his shoulders and crouched into a fighting stance. His counterpart was _waiting_ for him to agree to the duel. How childish. Would they bow to each other, too? Would they trade curses one by one, as though they were playing a card game instead of duelling? Would an audience applaud when they concluded? Harry didn't draw his wand.

He turned his back on his counterpart and said to Lily, "You need to teach your son how to…"

He trailed off at the sudden flaring of his scar, followed by a hot sensation along his forearm. The Locating Rune was being activated. It had taken three days, but finally Voldemort from his universe had figured out that Harry was missing, and had chosen now of all times to activate the rune.

He clasped a hand over his wrist. He didn't dare move, heart suddenly thumping against his chest. Would the Locating Rune work? Would it tell Voldemort that he was in an alternate universe?

The second rune suddenly flared hot. The Summoning Rune. He held his breath. Would it work between universes? He waited, but nothing happened. No forced Apparation.

"Harry? What's wrong?" Lily asked slowly, eyes full of concern.

Harry realised with a sick feeling of dread that Voldemort was working his way through the runes. First the Locating Rune, then the Summoning Rune. The Interconnecting Rune was the only one left, and Harry was fairly sure he could guess which spell Voldemort would cast into it.

"Oh, please Merlin, no."

• − ○ ◊ Lily ◊ ○ − •

Lily watched in frightened confusion as her alternate son's expression morphed into abject horror. She could not for the life of her figure out what was causing it. He'd moved a hand to rest over his forearm with a wild, panicked look in his eye, like a trapped animal.

He took a frantic step away from them as if to make a break for it. He squeezed his eyes shut, locked his jaw, crumpled, and screamed through gritted teeth. It made Lily's inside turn cold, her guts twist into knots, her heart lift into her throat. Her son fell to the ground, writhing with horrible convulsions that Lily recognised could only be caused by the Cruciatus Curse.

"_Harry_!"

She fell beside him. Where was it coming from? How was this happening? She clutched frantically at her writhing son, completely at a loss, but desperate to do _something._ "What's happening to you?" she cried.

"It's his Dark Mark!" her original son shouted triumphantly. He darted beside his writhing counterpart and wrestled with his sleeve.

"Harry, no! Go and get Dumbledore! _Quickly_!"

Lily couldn't believe the gall of her son. He wrenched his counterpart's sleeve up, and all the frantic frenetic energy and panic raging inside her dissipated all at once at the sight of those three blood red runes, carved right into his skin. One of them glowing and pulsing. It had to be what was causing this.

She went still, her alternate son's screams tearing her to shreds. Someone was crucioing him through that glowing rune. How? _Why_? She clutched his forearm and ran a disbelieving hand across the runes. Who would do this? What did it mean? What were the other two runes for? Was there a way to stop it? She felt dizzy from the sheer amount of unanswered questions.

Harry's cries suddenly ceased. His eyes flew open with a ragged gasp. He lurched upward, then froze upon realising that Lily was gripping his forearm.

He was looking right at her. Again, the horror came over his expression, but this time he also turned red with shame. She couldn't move, she couldn't speak, in the wake of his heavy stare. She didn't recognise him. Where were those green eyes that were so like hers? These were murkier. Darker.

"Get off me!" he said harshly. He yanked his arm free and pulled down his sleeve.

"Who did that… what do they… why do you have runes _carved_ into your arm!?" Lily stuttered at him.

"Forget about it," he muttered, and suddenly he was back to not being able to look her in the eye. He got to his feet.

"Harry," Lily said slowly, as though he could explode at any moment. "Please answer me when I ask _who did this to you_?"

"Forget it."

"No, Harry! What happened to you?" Lily said, unable to stop herself. "What _happened_? _Why are you like this? _Pushing us away all the time, not caring about your own wellbeing! How can you spurn your own family?_"_

"Well _excuse me_," Harry bit out scathingly. "But I guess when you all summoned me here, you forgot to put 'must be kind and courteous to his captors' in the job description!"

"You think of us as your _captors_?"

"It's as good a definition as any," Harry muttered. "I have no way to find these bloody horcruxes, so I'm trapped, aren't I? By _you_!"

"We are your family-"

"You are _not_! You're strangers. My family is an entire universe away because of you."

He turned and stormed down the corridor. Lily stared helplessly after him, but did not follow, and hurriedly caught her original son before he could go chasing after his counterpart.

Her original son raised her hands in surrender. "Okay, so it turns out Dark Harry doesn't have a Dark Mark, but those runes are still suspicious!"

Lily sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead. "Just leave your alternate self alone."

But to her exasperation, he shook his head angrily. "No! I'm the only one who seems to care that he might reduce this school to a smouldering pile of ash."

"He's working with us, not against us," Lily said. "He just wants to go home."

"Yeah, so he can reduce his _own_ Hogwarts to a pile of smouldering ash!"

"He was being Crucioed!" Lily burst out, and regretted it for the look that came over her son's face. He'd never seen a Crucio, and she'd hoped he'd be little older before that particular milestone was reached. "You're right, these runes can't mean anything good, but it doesn't mean he's a dark wizard. We need to give him a chance."

Harry had gone painfully silent. He gave Lily a forlorn look and said reluctantly, "Mum, he's a Parcelmouth. We heard him."

Lily frowned, then forced a light laugh. "Don't be silly, Harry. I know it must be fun to let your imagination run wild, but there is no way he's a Parcelmouth. That kind of think is hereditary."

"Just like how the capacity of a person's magical core is hereditary?"

He had her there. Lily frowned heavier. Her alternate son couldn't be a Parcelmouth. It was impossible. It was unthinkable.

"He's not dark. He can't be dark," she said, more for her own benefit than his. "If he was dark, why would he be destroying horcruxes?"

"Because he has to keep up the façade of working with us until he can run to Voldemort!" Harry said earnestly.

Lily shook her head. "He was the one who revealed that they could be destroyed in the first place. If he was actually loyal to Voldemort, he would have just kept that information to himself. Besides, he's destroyed two of Voldemort's most prized possessions! No double agent of Voldemort would ever do such a thing if they valued their lives or their sanity."

"So… he's getting Voldemort out of the way so that he can take over the universe himself!" Harry insisted.

"Harry, stop. Just stay away from your counterpart," Lily said, walking away from him

"You're blinded, Mum!" Harry called after her. "So blinded by your love for me that you can't see his darkness!"

Lily didn't respond, but frowned heavily as she walked away.

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Of course. _Of course_ the only rune that worked was the one that was the most painful and the least helpful. He'd locked himself in his room, and for a while there his life had been the engulfing agony of the Cruciatus Curse interspersed with short breaks while the Voldemort tried the other two runes, over and over, with his scar splitting his head open all the while.

The Dark Lord was furious. That much was _painfully_ obvious. And Harry had no way to tell him what had happened. As far as Voldemort knew, Harry had found a way to deactivate the runes, to bypass the wards around Gaunt Camp, to escape Lord Voldemort.

He fiddled with the vial of Sleeping Potion in his pocket, wondering if it was strong enough to send him to sleep through the Crucio. He'd resisted taking it, convinced that he'd be tired enough to fall asleep on his own. Lily's horrified gaze filled his mind's eye. He could still feel her iron-clad grip around his arm. It made him cringe with mortification.

He might as well just come right out and say that he was an irredeemable monster and their only option was to throw him in Azkaban as soon as possible. He'd tried so hard to not give any information about his universe, yet somehow it was all seeping through. Now they knew there was something deeply wrong with his universe, and they would never stop prying, would they?

He gave up on trying to will himself to sleep, and swallowed down the sweet-tasting potion in two gulps. Immediately his limbs began to feel heavy. He gratefully closed his eyes, and finally, finally, drifted off.

He'd never been able to recognise his own dreams before. Something strange was happening. Shapes and lights wafted in and out of his vision. The world faded in and out of focus. He felt as though he was falling, plummeting through the air, the ground looming closer and closer until–

He collided with the ground and lurched awake. But he wasn't in his room. He was standing in front of a mirror, but instead of seeing himself, Lord Voldemort glared back at him with a look of rage and contempt that sent fear sparkling through him.

"_Potter_," Voldemort hissed, seething with rage. "_Where are you_?"

Harry blinked at him, disoriented and fuzzy. He was still dreaming. He had to be. This was a nightmare. He closed his eyes, and the blackness enveloped him further…

"POTTER!" Voldemort's snarl jarred him back into focus. "How did you escape the runes? Explain yourself!"

Harry's vision went red in the wake of Voldemort's anger. The mirror shook, rattling in its frame. Harry stared back at the Dark Lord, swamped in dizzy confusion. "A dream…" he slurred. "This is a dream."

Voldemort sneered at him. "No, Harry, this is a vision. Which means the pain I am capable of inflicting will feel _extremely_ real. Now tell me what miserable little hole you're hiding in, and how you nullified my runes!"

This was a vision. He was standing before Voldemort. _His _Voldemort.

"It – It's not my fault," Harry stammered. "I've been summoned – by an alternate version of the Order – to kill you."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed into thin red slits. "What foolish half-baked excuse is this?"

Harry took a deep breath as Voldemort's rage thundered through him. He explained everything that had happened as rationally as he could. His confession did not abolish Voldemort anger, rather, increased it tenfold.

"Leave it up to that meddling old fool to interfere beyond death – beyond existence – beyond entire worlds!" he howled. He glared at Harry through the mirror, upper lip curling into a snarl. "I will not let you go, Potter! _I will not_!"

He entered into a chaotic kind of silence, anger visibly churning around him. Harry waited apprehensively in silence. He could practically see the conflict brewing in the Dark Lord's mind. Voldemort wanted Harry back, but the only way to do that would be to allow Harry to hunt down and destroy his alternate self's horcruxes, thereby destroying the masquerade of immortality Voldemort had created for himself.

Finally, the Dark Lord drew a sharp breath, nostrils flaring, and said slowly, with each word sounding painful to say, "Alright then, Potter. I will show you how to destroy me. How similar are these respective universes?"

"You went after Neville as a baby instead of me, and you succeeded. You've risen to power virtually unopposed ever since."

Voldemort's face twisted into a poisonous, bitter smile. "So the Order in this world is desperate and weak, and so called you forth to do their dirty work." Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "And it appears you were all too willing to play the part of their little hero."

"Professor Dumbledore threatened me with Azkaban," Harry admitted quietly.

Voldemort laughed. "You see, Harry? Your golden mentor Albus Dumbledore is just as capable of evil acts as you or I."

Harry shook his head. "He does what he has to for the Greater Good!"

"Naïve boy!" Voldemort cried. "You have been my soldier for three years, but you have been a soldier for far longer than that. You became Dumbledore's soldier, Dumbledore's _prisoner_ from the moment you ripped me from my body and became the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry shook his head. He didn't want to hear this. Professor Dumbledore had always been his guide, his mentor. He was like a father. Voldemort couldn't corrupt that. He wouldn't let him.

"He was the one who sent you to live with the Dursleys, Harry," Voldemort hissed at him. "He knew you would grow up neglected and meek, and thus would not complain when Dumbledore loaded the fate of the Wizarding World onto your shoulders.

"And all those tasks that lead you to the Philosopher's Stone? He wanted you to get through them! After all, they were so easy a troupe of eleven-year-olds could defeat them! He wanted you to get to the Philosopher's Stone, Potter. He wanted you to indulge in your endearing little penchant for saving people. You were his puppet then, and you are again his puppet now."

"What is your point?" said Harry. Voldemort's words made him feel cold and hollow. "You want me to turn on him? To kill him? Then I'll be stuck here forever! Is that what you want?"

"I want you to remember that Albus Dumbledore does not care whether you live or die, Harry," Voldemort said, then he leaned in close to the surface of the mirror. "But I do."

"Are you going to tell me where your horcruxes are or not?"

Voldemort withdrew with a smirk, knowing he had left Harry deeply unsettled. "Let's see now… you have already destroyed two, so I suppose you are to be commended for that. Now you need to find the other five."

Voldemort revealed the identity of Hufflepuff's Cup, in possession of Elain Greengrass, Ravenclaw's Diadem, hidden in the Room of Requirement, Tom Riddle's Diary, in Lucius Malfoy's possession, and Nagini, who never left Voldemort's side.

"That's only six horcruxes," Harry said, trying to keep all the information straight in his head. "You said you had seven."

Voldemort paused and eyed Harry cryptically. He cleared his throat. "Yes, well, due to the differences between these two universes, it is impossible for my counterpart and I to share the same horcrux."

"Why not? Did he only create six?"

"Not likely," Voldemort replied, he descended into a thoughtful silence.

Harry felt the cold pit of helplessness sinking into his stomach. "So what am I supposed to do?"

"You will hunt the others, and give me time to contemplate," said Voldemort. "Do not get distracted, Potter. I expect you by my side by Christmas! You may be an entire universe away, but you are still my soldier. The only freedom you have is the freedom to _obey_."

With that, the ground tilted, the mirror and Voldemort glaring eyes faded into blackness, and Harry lurched awake, back in his room, in this alternate version of Hogwarts.


	7. A Little Help From My Friends

**Chapter 6: A Little Help From My Friends**

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry didn't fancy falling asleep after that vision, worried he may simply fall back into Voldemort's clutches. He got to his feet. He might as well be productive. Voldemort had said one of his horcruxes was in the Room of Requirement.

Could it be that easy?

Harry made his way to the seventh floor, relishing in the calm stillness of the slumbering castle. He got to the sixth floor before realising that he wasn't alone. He'd spent three years sneaking around Hogwarts beneath his Invisibility Cloak – he knew the sound of shuffling feet when he heard it.

"Following me now?" Harry asked the apparently empty hallway. His counterpart, Ron, and Hermione revealed themselves from beneath the cloak.

"We wanted to know what you were up to at four in the morning," Hermione said.

It was strange to hear her voice, out loud, after only hearing it in the back of his head for so long.

"I'd just been on my way to murder you all in your sleep," he said, stalking away from them. Much to his chagrin, they followed. "Will you kids go to bed?"

"You can't call us kids," Ron said indignantly. "You're seventeen just like the rest of us."

"I'm sixt-" Harry began, but stopped himself. He did the math in his head. He was seventeen. His birthday must have passed him by completely unnoticed. Seventeen felt much too old. In is head he was still a fifteen. But he'd grown, and changed, all for the worse.

"I can call you kids because you're dumb and naïve," said Harry.

His counterpart huffed. "Just tell us what you're up to."

Harry sighed. "I couldn't sleep, so I figured I might as well destroy a horcrux."

"You found another one?" Hermione asked.

"No, but I'm about to."

"_Awesome!_" his counterpart said. "Can we come?"

"No," Harry said, thinking of the visceral form of the Voldemort that had come spewing from the locket.

He didn't doubt that his counterpart was childish enough to take enjoyment out of a horcrux-stabbing. What he did doubt was that it was his counterpart's only reason for following him. His counterpart thought he was dark. He was surely looking to prove it by getting closer to him. He had no idea how to convince his counterpart he wasn't dark.

It was true, after all.

He considered knocking them out, or tying them up, or befuddling them. He dismissed all of these, however. Attacking anyone within Hogwarts probably wouldn't bode well with the Order. He considered just turning around and going back to bed, but quickly dismissed that, too.

He finally came to the blank space of wall that was the secret entrance to the Room of Requirement. He paced before it seven times and the wall shifted magically into an ornate set of wrought-iron double doors. He opened them to reveal a large cavernous room that seemed to stretch onward forever. It was piled high with mounds of relics and antiquities. His alternate friends walked in behind him, stunned.

Even he couldn't believe how large the room was. It was one giant chasm with thousands upon thousands of objects and artefacts. It was an ocean of items, too many to count, and there was only a very marginal chance that Ravenclaw's Diadem was one of them. He suddenly wasn't so annoyed by the presence of his counterpart and his friends.

"You want to see a horcrux destroyed so bad?" he asked them. "First we have to find it. Somewhere in here there's a diadem that once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw."

Harry allowed a moment for the full gravity of the situation to his home. Hermione stepped diligently forward and raised her wand.

"Accio diadem!" she chanted trimly. When nothing happened, she frowned. "Why didn't that work?"

"Because Lord Voldemort isn't a blundering idiot," Harry deadpanned. "He would have warded the diadem against every locating spell known to wizard-kind. We're going to have to find it the Muggle way."

"Maybe it's just not in here," Hermione suggested, raising her eyebrows and folding her arms.

"Merlin, you are a lot less insufferable in my head," Harry muttered under his breath, then said louder, "It has to be here. Pick a mound and start looking."

He didn't want to think about what it would mean if the horcrux wasn't here.

The four of them searched all night for that ruddy diadem, and all day, too. They had divided the room into four, and each had a quarter to search through. It was painstaking work, and Harry was growing more frustrated by the minute. It didn't help that his merry little helpers kept getting distracted by the amusing artefacts they came across.

Not long after they'd begun their search, Ron had discovered a mirror which could apparently show them their futures. The three of them had spent a solid half an hour swapping turns to look into the mirror before Harry finally came over to tell them to get back to work.

"Come on, Dark Harry!" his counterpart whined. "Stand in front of the mirror and see what your future is! Maybe you'll find out whether you defeat Voldemort or not."

Harry glanced at the mirror, and recognised it immediately. "That's the Mirror of Erised, you dolt. It shows you your deepest desire, not your future."

The three of them deflated a little after that, but were no less mystified by the mirror.

"So what do you see when you look in the mirror, Dark Harry?" his counterpart asked.

Harry was careful to keep his eyes away from the mirror. He didn't want to know what his deepest desire was. Something told him he wouldn't see his reincarnated family like last time, and that knowledge just felt like a betrayal.

Harry turned to the nearest pile of rubble and rummaged through it. "I see myself, holding Ravenclaw's Diadem and stabbing the life force out of it. And that's what all you lot should see, too. Get back to work."

They did get back to work for a while, before being distracted again by Fanged Frisbee, followed by a comically enormous stuffed troll, and later a banjo of all things, which lead Harry's counterpart to give a heartfelt rendition of "Do the Hippogriff."

Their devil-may-care attitude frustrated Harry no end. He supposed he was just envious that they could be so carefree. Free to be kids. It was a little after noon when Ron suddenly shouted, "Eureka!" and came running. He held up a diadem wrought from silver with blue jewels encrusted into its centre.

Harry took it from him and felt the weight of it in his hand. "This is it," he said.

The three crowded around him, relieved and ready to see a horcrux be destroyed. Harry set the diadem on the floor and apprehensively pulled out the fang.

"Are you sure you guys don't want to go to bed?" he asked tentatively.

Ron huffed. "One – it's the middle of the day, and two – we spent hours looking for that bloody thing. If we don't get to watch a piece of Voldemort's soul fizzle out and die, I'll set Fred and George on you."

Harry sighed, prayed to Merlin that a visceral form of Voldemort wouldn't come sprouting from the horcrux, and plunged the fang into it with all his strength. A thick black substance oozed from the diadem. The very pressure in the air seemed to increase, setting the hair on the back of his neck on end. Harry kept the fang pressed down on the diadem, and slowly the pressure released. He picked up the diadem, held it for a moment just to be sure, then tossed it to Hermione.

She caught it gingerly. "Don't you need to give this to Professor Dumbledore?"

Harry scowled. He should, but Professor Dumbledore was still under the impression that Harry had no way to find these horcruxes, and Harry didn't feel like enlightening him just yet.

"He knows I'm here to do his dirty work for him," Harry muttered. "He doesn't need proof. Besides, it's just a hunk of junk, now."

"A _priceless_ hunk of junk!" said Ron, snatching it from Hermione. "This once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw!"

His counterpart said, "I bet there's a good prank we could play with that. We could affix it to Professor Dumbledore's head!"

"Or the Giant Squid's," Ron suggested.

"Either way, it sounds like a job for Tampertail!"

"Who's Tampertail?" Harry asked.

His alternate self's eyes went wide, and he promptly transformed into a capuchin monkey. The monkey screeched at him and scampered expertly up a mound of artefacts. It snatched the diadem from Ron and placed it on its head, gave a funny little dance, then jumped and transformed back into his counterpart.

"Tell me you don't have an animagus from!" he said with hopeful eyes. Harry shook his head, and his counterpart punched the air with glee. "Finally! I can do something that my stronger, better alternate self can't!"

"Just because he doesn't have one yet doesn't mean he can't," Hermione pointed out.

"Don't rain on my parade, Hermione!" said his counterpart, dancing around in circles.

"You're a monkey," Harry said flatly.

He deflated a little. "Yeah, I was hoping for something a little more badass, but I must say, it's excellent for mischief-making."

"And James taught you."

"Yep! Sirius helped too. Mum wanted us to wait until I was sixteen, but Dad couldn't resist starting a couple of months earlier."

"He was supposed to keep it a secret, but of course he couldn't resist showing off in front of the entire school," Ron said, scowling darkly.

His alternate self slung an arm around Ron's shoulders. "Mate, it's not my fault your Mum threatened to hex my Dad into the next realm if he taught you. Just a few more months until you turn eighteen, and then there's nothing she can do about it!"

Ron grinned. "My form is going to be so much better than yours. I'll probably be a lion, or a wolf–"

"Or a slug," Hermione said.

"Or a sea lion!" said his counterpart.

Harry rolled his eyes and left the trio to their pointless bantering. He could admit to being a little jealous of his counterpart's animagus form. He could see the merits of being able to transform into an anonymous animal, and it had no doubt been a bonding experience between him and James.

He ended up aimlessly wandering the halls of Hogwarts. He tried to soak up the atmosphere, but ended up ruminating over Voldemort's horcruxes. He'd destroyed three, but these last four would prove to be the hardest. One was a complete and utter mystery, two were in the possession of dark wizards, and one never left the Dark Lord's side. What was he supposed to do? Stage four elaborate heists? He wouldn't know where to begin. He wasn't crafty or cunning. He needed a Slytherin.

As if summoned by his very thoughts, Harry turned a corner and found himself face-to-face with Daphne Greengrass. Daughter of Elain Greengrass. Which meant she was a suspected horcrux-owner.

"How's your holiday going?" Daphne asked.

"What?"

"How's your holiday?" she repeated. "You owe everyone here nothing, and there's nothing you can do for your old universe. So nothing you do matters. It's like a holiday from responsibility."

"_Everything_ I do matters," Harry corrected. "I'm one wrong move away from being thrown into Azkaban."

"So? You'll escape."

"You're awfully confident in my abilities."

"Why shouldn't I be? You're the _Destroyer of Worlds_," she said, grinning and drawing closer.

"I'm pretty sure the term they used was _Champion of–_"

"Same thing!"

Harry gave her a doubtful look. "I think there's a pretty essential difference between a _destroyer_ and a _champion_."

She shrugged. "Every comedy told long enough becomes a tragedy. They're just two sides of the same galleon."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that. He tried to remember the Daphne from his universe, but could only recollect the vague details of a girl who had been a part of Pansy's little posse. He didn't think he'd ever seen her after the Fall of Hogwarts. Either way, she was one of the last people he'd expect to be here in Hogwarts – the last stronghold for the light.

"Shouldn't you be on the other side of this war?" Harry asked.

Her mood immediately soured. "I'll tell you my sob-story, if you tell me yours."

"Never mind then," Harry said easily, and started off down the corridor.

"Okay, fine," she huffed. "My parents were murdered."

Harry turned back to her, regretting his actions. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You're working for the people who killed them. My parents were Death Eaters. The bad guys."

"And what made you decide you wanted to be a good guy?"

She slinked closer to him. Closer than he thought was strictly necessary. "Have you noticed how the girls stare at you?" she asked, throwing him off guard.

"They all stare," Harry said. "I'm used to it. I'm the Champion of Worlds, remember?"

She shook her head. "I'm talking about a different kind of stare. _Those_ stares are filled with awe and fear, _these_ stares are filled with something _completely different_," she said, voice dripping with suggestiveness. She cocked her head to the side curiously. "Although, I suppose awe and fear still come into it."

Harry took two – very large – steps back. "Well, I'd like to think that those girls would have enough sense to leave me alone," he said pointedly.

She didn't call after him when he walked off, but he did get the distinct impression that she was grinning at his retreating form.

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

That night at the feast, Harry became painfully aware of the stares that did seem to come primarily from those of the female persuasion. He could feel his cheeks burning up. What was so special about him? He didn't know how to interact with girls.

His counterpart and his troupe of friends came and sat around him ceremoniously.

"Harry, we've come to a decision," Hermione said. "We don't completely trust you yet, but you're Harry, so you deserve a chance."

Harry sincerely doubted they trusted him at all. They were probably just trying to get closer to him so that they could discover all his secrets and get him thrown into Azakaban, but he kept his mouth shut.

Ron cleared his throat and said in a painfully transparent attempt at small-talk, "So, Dark Harry, what's Hermione like in your universe? I bet she's super bookish and bossy. That kind of stuff is cross-dimensional, surely."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "For all you know, in his universe I'm the Quidditch-obsessed, blundering idiot, and you're the bossy, bookish nerd."

Ron clutched a hand to his heart. "I would never! Harry, tell her she's wrong."

"Don't worry, Ron," Harry deadpanned. "Your idiocy extends across all dimensions."

Hermione surprised Harry by laughing at that while Ron scowled. They quickly descended into an awkward silence again. It was only marginally better than having them accusing him of being a dark wizard all the time.

"So, Alternate Self," his counterpart spoke up. "You can't be a Potter unless you've pulled some pranks. I'll tell you my best stories if you tell me yours, eh?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess, um, in my world Fred and George were more of the pranksters."

His counterpart scowled at him. "How could you let that happen?"

"Well, you can help us dream up something amazing for our next prank," Ron said.

The teens proceeded to brainstorm pranks, which lead to reminiscing about previous pranks which included the Great Feast Food Fight of '93, as well as managing to turn everyone's skin blue for an entire month. Their conversation quickly descended into an argument over whether the blue-skin prank was the same as the pink-robes prank.

Harry listened to them bickering in silence, wanting to leave, but feeling too awkward to get up. He poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice as the group moved on to discussing failed pranks.

"I remember Ron once tried to put a boggart in Fred's bed, only to be found by Mum in his room sobbing underneath a meter-long spider," Ginny said, laughing.

"That's nothing," Harry's counterpart said. "Remember the time in second year when I tried to rip off a toilet seat to send to Holly, but just ended up flooding half the third floor?"

Ginny laughed. "You were so dumb," she said sweetly, then leaned over and suddenly the two of them were kissing.

Harry choked on his pumpkin juice.

The two broke apart at his dumbstruck coughing. "Why, my dear counterpart! Are Ginny and I not dating in your world?" his counterpart asked with a triumphant grin.

Harry coughed and shook his head.

"Don't worry, it was inevitable," Ginny said, smiling at his counterpart.

Harry scowled at the two of them. "This universe just gets better and better."

"What do you have against us dating?" Ginny asked, a little defensively.

"I just… I never… forget it," he muttered. He averted his gaze and glanced around the hall, only to notice the increasing amount of stares he was receiving. He ducked his head. "Why can't everyone mind their own business?"

"Why can't you just ignore them?" Holly asked. "It's only just now started to bother you?"

"It always bothered me," said Harry, glancing over his shoulder. He locked eyes with a group young girls who all burst into giggles and looked away.

"I think Harry's just realised that some of those stares are for a very specific reason," Hermione said.

Harry felt himself going red. "What's so special about me?"

"Are you joking?" Ron asked. "You're the Champion of Worlds! The hero!"

"They don't even know me."

"Exactly. They can project whatever hopeless fantasy they want onto you," Ginny said.

"What?"

Hermione said, "Harry, every year we hold a Christmas Ball, and before Hogwarts banished all those who consorted with Death Eaters, the Slytherin boys always used to be the first to get dates. You know why?"

Harry shook his head.

"It's because they committed to this attitude of aloof mystery. They'd strut around as though they had these tortured souls, and the girls would just eat it up. They couldn't wait to get close and discover all their secrets and be the one that _fixes_ them. And let's be frank – you exhibit that dark, mysterious attitude to the power of ten."

"Great. I'm a walking cliché," Harry muttered.

He couldn't help thinking of Daphne. She'd sought him out – brought up tortured pasts. Sprouted off those poetic, tragic lines. He glanced at Daphne seated further down the table, completely alone. She returned his gaze and raised her eyebrows. He looked away.

He'd never thought of himself as attractive. He'd never thought of anyone else as attractive, either. Was this just another way he was broken? Something else Voldemort had taken from him?

"Are you honestly complaining?" his alternate self said. "What I would _give_ for that kind of – uh, I mean, Merlin! I would hate that. All that unwanted female attention! Ginny's attention is all I need – isn't that right, Ginny?" he said, grinning and elbowing Ginny, who glared back at him with narrowed eyes.

"You ought to beep like a Muggle truck when you back up like that," she said.

"Are there no girls in your universe of something?" Ron said. "Shouldn't you be used to this by now?"

Harry shot him a dirty look.

"Ah!" his alternate said, stroking an imaginary beard thoughtfully. "I think we've cracked the reason why my counterpart is such a miserable git. He comes from a world… _without women_."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Nah, it's much more serious than that," Ginny said. "All the women were killed after the dolphins invaded… and all of humanity was put to work as slaves building a giant rocket ship to take the dolphins back to their true home in the Andromeda Galaxy!"

"Very nice," his counterpart said. "How about… he was raised by goblins, which is why he's such a grouch… and he's locked in mortal combat with the Shopping Cart Lady, for she is a bringer of joy while he is the conjurer of crankiness."

"You're thinking way too big," Hermione said. "He's a git because _Quidditch_ got _cancelled_!"

"Or because his animagus is a bat."

"Maybe Ginny broke up with him."

"Don't even _joke_ about that!" his alternate self said, pretending to faint.

"Can you all go back to thinking I'm a terrifying dark wizard, please?" Harry said, getting up from the table.

"If you were a dark wizard you definitely would have hexed us into the next realm by now," Ron challenged.

"Maybe I should," returned Harry. "Azkaban would almost be worth it."

* * *

Thought I should mention that this is going to be a Harry/Daphne fanfic. I've actually never written romance properly before, so I'm interested to see what you think.

Also, do you have any thoughts, questions, critiques? Consider dropping a review. Writing is a lonely thing and at the moment it kind of feels like I'm shouting into the Void only for the Void to leave me on 'Read'.


	8. Saving People Thing

**Chapter 7: Saving People Thing**

• − ○ ◊ James ◊ ○ − •

James stood on the Astronomy Tower, gazing down at the grounds, the lake, and in the distance, the quaint magical town of Hogsmeade. It was beginning to drizzle, and the overcast sky reflected his sombre mood. The sound of footsteps came rushing up the stairs, and he turned in time to see Lily burst in. She hurried over to him, clutching an armful of books and rolls of parchment to her chest.

"James, look at this," she said, dumping them onto the nearest desk.

James peered over her shoulder. He noticed that she had a quill tucked behind her ear, and smiled. He loved her like this, all studious and submerged in the act of researching. Of learning.

She handed him a piece of parchment with three intricate runes drawn onto it. "They're what were on his forearm."

His smile faded. "What could they be for? Maybe these are why he's more powerful. Maybe they enlarge his magical core?"

"Perhaps," she said doubtfully. "The first one is obvious. It's a Locating Rune. We used to have Harry wear a bracelet with that rune on it back when he was a toddler, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," James said. Harry had quickly developed a penchant for running off. All it took was for James to take his eyes off him to a moment, and he'd be gone. Harry been looking for dragons to slay from the moment he could walk.

"The other two are much harder to discern," said Lily. "They're like nothing I've ever seen before, and I can't work out what their function is, but it's clear they're all involved with entrapment. They're Daughter Runes."

"Daughter Runes?"

James had never been much good at runes, but they spoke to Lily. He'd daresay she knew more about runes than anyone else in this school.

"There are runes that communicate with each other equally, like those on that mirror you use to communicate with Sirius. They're Sibling Runes. These are Mother-Daughter Runes, where the Mother is the activator and the Daughter is the receiver."

"So someone's using these runes to control him."

Lily bit her lip and nodded. "Something bad is going on in his world. I can feel it. I don't want him to go back."

"We can't deny him that, Lily. The one thing he's made abundantly clear is that he's desperate to go home."

"But what if that's only out of coercion? We could be saving his life! He could be happy here, out of the clutches of whoever has these Mother Runes."

James sighed. "If that ruddy kid would just _talk_ to us, this would all be so much simpler!"

A pointed cough sounded from the doorway. Their alternate son stood with that stony expression of his. James wondered how much of their conversation he'd heard.

"Harry!" Lily said with a forced smile. "What can we do for you?"

"You can stop prying into my life."

"It's our job to pry. We're your parents," James said. "What do you need?"

He hesitated. "I need you to teach me how to become an animagus."

_Oh sweet wizarding Merlin_.

James tried to keep a straight face. _Play it cool. Be the cool Dad. Nice and easy._ He shrugged and tried not to grin. "Of course! I mean – whatever you want. So Harry showed you his monkey form, did he?"

"He wouldn't shut up about it when he found out I didn't have one," Harry said.

James grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "Ah, I sense a brotherly rivalry developing between you two."

Harry stepped pointedly away from him. "It had nothing to do with that. I can see the benefits of having an animagus form."

James didn't believe him for a second. "Well, I guess it's only fair that I teach you. I taught your counterpart, and I'll teach Holly when she's older. I wanted to teach Lily, too, but she was never really interested."

"And who's fault was that?" Lily interjected.

James grinned. "Mine," he said. "I kept making suggestive comments about how we could... you know… _do the business_ – as a stag and doe."

"I did not need to hear that," Harry muttered with disgust, shaking his head to rid himself of the mental image and stalking back to the entrance.

James waited a torturous twenty seconds until he was sure his alternate son was gone, then howled with glee and punched the air. "He wants me to teach him, Evans! He _wants_ something! I can't believe it! It's Christmas already!"

Lily laughed, and the heaviness of their previous conversation evaporated. James took hold of his wife and they waltzed their way across the room.

"Don't worry about the runes, Lilyflower," James said, unable to contain his grin. "We'll convince him to stay. He'll be a part of the family, and he can leave whatever's in his smelly old universe behind him!"

They were interrupted again, however, this time by Remus Lupin.

"Moony!" James said in surprise. It felt like an age since he'd last seen Remus. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might be interested to know that there's about to be an attack," Remus said. "On Hogsmeade."

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry stood, perplexed, between James, Lily, and Remus, who all stood calmly on the Astronomy Tower, gazing at Hogsmeade in the distance. When he squinted, he could just make out three wizards flying above the town on broomsticks. There was no mood of urgency. No call to arms.

"Aren't we going to do anything?" Harry asked.

"We should," said James grimly. "But we won't. It's just a skirmish. Hogsmeade has always been a grey area between light and dark. Voldemort's Death Eaters make a point of attacking it every once in a while to make sure they all know who's boss."

"You should still be defending what's your own."

"The Order of the Phoenix isn't as strong as it used to be," Lily said. "We have to pick and choose what battles we fight. The residents of Hogsmeade know how to protect themselves, and some Aurors will arrive eventually."

James scandalised Harry by turning his back on Hogsmeade. He said to Remus, "So how are you holding up? It's been a long time."

Remus gave a reluctant one-shouldered shrug. "Alright. How are–"

"How'd you go on Monday night? I know it was a full moon," James said earnestly.

Remus's expression darkened. "It was nothing I couldn't handle on my own."

James frowned at him. "Why are you still holding a grudge against me? I can help you. On full moons, financially–"

"Why should I?" Remus retorted, calm and measured. "Why should I allow you the honour of giving you my trust, when you couldn't return me the favour?"

James scrubbed a hand over his face. "I told you, Moony! It was just a matter of circumstance!"

Remus gave a sad smile. "All I know is, you once told me it was the height of dishonour to distrust your friends."

Harry observed Remus and James interact in confused bewilderment. What had happened to cause a rift between them? What disturbed him more, however, was how calm and candid they were toward the imminent attack on Hogsmeade. What was the point of resisting the darkness if you never actually fought against it?

"No wonder Voldemort is winning no matter what universe I'm in," he scowled. "It's because the light think hiding in their holes is a valid strategy."

He raced down the stairs two at a time. He'd need a broomstick if he was going to take on those Death Eaters, so he diverted to the Gryffindor Common Room. The entrance was cast open for free entry, since there was no such thing as houses anymore, but he knew his counterpart would remain there. He dashed through the common room, viciously ignoring the wave of nostalgia, and up the stairs to the Seventh Year boy's room. His counterpart and his troupe of friends were sitting around the fireplace. They appeared to be discussing a small leather journal, and they all jumped guiltily at his entrance. He found the bed he assumed was his counterpart's and began to rifle through his possessions.

"Can I help you?" his counterpart said.

"Where is your ruddy broomstick?" Harry asked. He dropped onto his stomach and found the broomstick under the bed. He snatched it up and moved to the window.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

"There an attack on Hogsmeade, and your family is content to just sit and watch!"

Hermione's voice whispered in the back of his head, _saving people thing, saving people thing, saving people thing._

"Shut up, Hermione!" he muttered.

"I didn't say anything!"

He pulled the latch, shoved the window open, and fell out. As he whipped through the air, he wrestled himself onto the broomstick and gained control just in time to pull up before colliding into a rooftop. He arched around so that he was facing Hogsmeade, and crouched as close to the broomstick as he could, urging it to take him as fast as it could go. He approached the edge of the wards surrounding Hogwarts, and for a moment feared that he might not be able to get through, but passed beyond them with ease.

Hogsmeade was beginning to go up in smoke. There were three Death Eaters he could count. All on broomsticks, leisurely circling the town, cursed fire streaming from their wands. This was no skirmish. It was an execution.

Harry cast a Bombarda into the sky. It exploded in the air above him and drew the Death Eaters' attention. One of them immediately peeled off toward him. Harry was ready. He conjured a gust of wind, and while he grappled with the turbulence, Harry unloaded ever spell he could think of on him. He blocked his onslaught, and Harry suddenly recognised the Death Eater. Avery. He was one of the Trainers at Gaunt Camp back in his universe.

Harry was going to enjoy this.

Most of his curses were blocked with ease, but a string of his cutting hexes slashed into Avery. He cried out, then growled at Harry, returning a few choice curses of his own. Harry manoeuvred his way out of their path. He'd never duelled on a broomstick before. It was almost fun to have a whole other dimension of up and down to work with.

He curled downward and sent some curses up at him. Avery dodged them and spun to face him. They continued trading curses, manoeuvring around each other. Harry could feel himself coming alive as he weaved through the air. This was something he was good at, and for once in his life he was fighting for the right cause.

Avery sent a Confringo at him, which forced Harry to veer down dangerously close to the Fiendfyre.

"Hey! Don't kill him!" another Death Eater called to Avery. "It's the Champion of Worlds!"

That made Harry pause. So they were under orders not to kill the Champion of Worlds.

The cursed fire was feasting on the shopfronts of Hogsmeade. He noticed that it had caught two boys in an alleyway. They barely looked old enough to be attending Hogwarts. They clutched at each other, the Fiendfyre blocking their escape and hungrily drawing closer. Harry flung an Immobulus over his shoulder at Avery and swooped into the alleyway.

"One of you get on!" Harry shouted over the whoosh and crackle of the fire. His broom wouldn't hold the both of them.

"Take my brother!" the older of the two shouted, hoisting the younger onto Harry's broomstick. The boy kicked and shouted in protest, but Harry didn't have time for noble antics. He wrapped an arm tight around the kid's waist and kicked off with the cursed fire threatening to snag the thistles of the broomstick.

He held his breath, closed his eyes, flying blindly through the smoke, hoping Amycus and Avery would lose him amongst it. But the kid was coughing and spluttering uncontrollably. Harry rose out of the smoke, and found the Amycus waiting for him. Harry crouched protectively over the boy and cast a Protego over them. It protected them against most of Amycus' onslaught of spells, but a conjured rope broke through and coiled around Harry's torso, forcing him to grind to a halt. He only just managed to keep hold of the broomstick and the boy.

He urged the broomstick forward but the will of Amycus' conjured rope was stronger. He growled in frustration and seized the rope. He let his magic come thundering through his fingers. It crackled up the rope, Amycus crying out as the rope explodes, shattering his wand and blasting him backward.

The broomstick lurched forward again, and Harry directed it to the edge of town. He touched down and all but threw the kid off it.

"Find somewhere to hide and don't come out," he commanded, then kicked off again.

He managed to evade the attention of the other two Death Eaters and went straight back to the alleyway. Smoke was billowing from the shops on either side of the alleyway. He feared he was too late. He plunged down in the impossible heat. The smoke was suffocating.

He strained to see, and found the older boy still there, blinded and choking. Harry helped him struggle onto the broomstick. There was a throaty, crackling roar. From the burning fire in front of them emerged a great lion. The feline sizzled and flickered before them, a beacon surrounded by smoke.

It snarled and leapt at them with a sputtering roar. The boy screamed. Harry pulled the boy to the ground and flattened himself on top of him. The fire-lion leapt over them with a thundering roar, ground shaking. His fiery paw seared across Harry's shoulderblade, burning his robes to a cinder. He cried out, the fire roasting his flesh. The lion charged onward, leaving a blackened trail of destruction in its wake.

"Come on!" Harry choked out, helping the boy up. His broomstick had been completely obliterated.

The lion, however, had blazed a path of charred soot and charcoal for them. Harry seized the boy and blindly ran through the smoke. They made it out of the alleyway and into the main street. They sucked in several broken breaths, but Harry didn't stop. He dragged the boy hurriedly to the other side of the street and yanked open the door to a shopfront he recognised as Honeydukes and shoved the boy in. A family revealed themselves from the depths of the shop, scared faces covered in soot.

"_Extinctusfyre_," Harry said as clearly as he could. "That should protect the shop from the fire! _Extinctusfyre_!"

Then he ran further into the stop into the back, where he found a set of stairs leading the roof. He ran up it and broke the door down. He gazed upward and saw a Death Eater working his way nearer, engulfing the buildings in fire in his wake. Lucius Malfoy. Harry cast a disillusionment charm on himself and waited for the him to get closer. Just as he was about to set Honeydukes alight, Harry took a page from Amycus' book. He conjured a rope, lit is coil around the Malfoy's torso and wrenched downward.

He gave a startled yelp of surprise and collided with the roof, and before he could recover, Harry had stupefied him and stolen his broomstick. He rose into the sky and found one Death Eater left. He was on the other side of town, busily setting the station on fire.

Harry was distracted, however, by four figures approaching rapidly on broomsticks from the direction of Hogwarts. It was his counterpart, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. He glanced at the last Death Eater. He needed to stop him from burning these civilians alive in their own homes, but those four kids were about to get themselves killed. He growled in frustration and turned away from the Death Eater. He intercepted them at the edge of the town.

"What do you think you're doing? Get back to Hogwarts!" Harry shouted at them. They set down on the rooftop of one of the cottages at the edge of town.

"You were right!" his counterpart said earnestly. "We should be protecting Hogsmeade! We're here to help you."

"You're doing the opposite of helping," Harry growled. "Get back to the castle before you get yourselves killed."

"We may not be the Champion of Worlds, but we can hold our own in battle!" Hermione said.

Ron joined in with, "Yeah, stop treating us like children!"

"You need to leave!" he said forcefully. While they were having this pointless argument, Hogsmeade was burning. He glanced at the last Death Eater. "I have a plan."

"What plan?" Ginny asked incredulously.

"I'm going to let them capture me."

"What?" his counterpart spluttered. "That's crazy!"

"It's the only way," Harry said. It was the only way to find the other horcruxes. He mounted his broomstick. "Stay here."

But his counterpart latched onto his robes. "You can't! Voldemort will kill you."

"I know what I'm doing," said Harry. He tried to wrench himself free, but now the lot of them were standing in his way. He cursed their Gryffindor stubbornness. He sighed, hesitated, then blasted them Immobulus hexes before they could react.

They each went as solid as stone in a burst of yellow light and toppled over. Harry kicked off, and left the four of them on that rooftop, howling their indignation after him. Harry sent a flurry of hexes at the Death Eater to catch his attention, then dropped to the ground. The Death Eater approached, and Harry's heart sank a little at the sight of Severus Snape.

Harry pointed his wand at Snape, then slowly and deliberately put it in his pocket and showed Snape his empty hands.

"Take me to Voldemort!" Harry yelled over the crackle of fire. Snape paused and hovered closer. "I'm the Champion of Worlds! I know you've been ordered not to kill me, so take me to Voldemort."

Snape raised his eyebrows and touched down with a heavy thud, eyes glinting. There would no doubt be a reward for the one who brought the Champion of Worlds to Voldemort.

"Trust a Potter to be a fool," he sneered.

Harry just offered out his arm. A deluge of apparation pops filled the air, and they were suddenly surrounded by Aurors and Order members. One of them was James. Harry would never forget the look on his face as Snape latched onto his arm and apparated them away.

It was the expression of heartbroken betrayal.

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

"I want to join you," said Harry. He inserted as much conviction into the phrase as he could muster.

This world's Voldemort was identical to his own. Black, flowing robes. An elongated, skeletal figure, with purple veins protruding from sickly, sallow skin, and eyes that would gleam even in the darkness.

Those eyes bore in Harry, and amused smirk on his lipless mouth. He knelt on one knee before the Dark Lord's throne, in a large, ornate ballroom. He felt quite out of place in this pristine setting, covered in soot and grit, with singed robes and burns along his shoulder that were becoming more painful with each passing moment.

It was here, kneeling before this alternate version of Voldemort that Harry became aware that this might not have been the wisest course of action. But what else could he have done? This was not an opportunity he could miss. He just hoped everyone back at Hogwarts would understand what he was doing.

Voldemort glared down at him, Nagini lazing at his feet, and hissed just one word.

"_Why_?"

"Because I'm a prisoner," Harry spat. "I was brought to this world against my will, to fight in a war I don't care about. They threatened me with Azkaban if I didn't comply. They think they can control me. I'm going to prove them wrong."

"And forfeit any chance of returning to your old world," Voldemort said. There was an air of caution to his voice. He was also handling and fiddling with his wand.

"I have nothing to return to, but I have a chance to make something of myself here," Harry said, staring Voldemort in the eye. "I have the power to defeat you. Think of the devastation that will be caused when the very one who was supposed to destroy you, becomes your most powerful ally instead."

He could see the malicious greed light up Voldemort's eyes, but the Dark Lord was not yet convinced. "You attacked two of my Death Eaters."

"So now you know I'm a worthy asset."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed in thought. "How could I ever trust you, knowing your one purpose in this world is to be my downfall?"

Harry could think of only one way to prove his loyalty beyond a shadow of a doubt, but just the thought of it made his guts roil with disgust.

"Because the Voldemort in my universe did," Harry said apprehensively.

He forced himself to maintain the Dark Lord's red-eyed gaze and focused intently on one very specific memory of Harry standing beside his Voldemort as the Dark Lord announced that he had overthrown the Ministry of Magic. He let it encompass his thoughts and tried to will it into Voldemort's mind, to make him see.

And he did. Harry could tell because Voldemort's eyes – affixed on his, suddenly lit up. He rose to his feet. "Do you have a Dark Mark?"

Harry shook his head. "I was more than a Death Eater."

"_More than a Death Eater_?" Voldemort repeated disdainfully.

Harry nodded, then said in Parceltongue, "_I'm a Speaker_."

The Dark Lord recoiled in shock. A look of cold horror came over him, followed by a wide-eyed rapacity. "Impossible…" he hissed, eyes shifting to Nagini and falling silent in thought. Harry was careful to keep his eyes away from Nagini, wary that even a glance could reveal his true intentions.

"Alright then, Champion of Worlds," he said finally. "You have piqued my curiosity. I will give you an opportunity to prove yourself." He turned to Harry and said with glinting eyes, "Do you know what a Deathly Hallow is?"

* * *

I really appreciate the reviews guys. It really does mean a lot.

I'll just quickly answer the handful of questions I've received: This story is going to be around twenty chapters, but that might vary. There won't be an all-out duel between the two Harry's, mainly because I think AU Harry is smart enough to realise he doesn't stand a chance. But things will definitely get more heated between the two of them. And unfortunately Harry won't be joined by anyone from his universe except for the occasional words of "encouragement" from his Voldemort.

To mrneb and Arkhan12: Before starting this story I reread The Will of Others, and it occurred to me how heavy-handed and dark the whole story was, and I decided I wanted this story to be a little more balanced with some lighthearted stuff. That said, never fear, the angst is coming, I promise! Thank you so much for the honesty.


	9. Never Mind This Bleeding Heart

**Chapter 8: Never Mind This Bleeding Heart**

• − ○ ◊ James ◊ ○ − •

Professor Dumbledore sat quietly behind his desk, hands clasped beneath his chin, while his office descended into an explosion of arguments. Mad-Eye Moody's voice was the loudest. He'd declared Harry's actions a betrayal, and was calling for blood.

"You were the one who insisted on this bloody ritual!" Lily cried. "You doomed my son. The least you can do is stand by the one whose life you ruined!"

"We all saw him, Lily. He chose to leave with that Death Eater of his own free will," Kingsley said. "He's probably revealing all our secrets to Voldemort as we speak."

"And what secrets would those be, Kingsley? What I had for breakfast this morning?" Lily retorted hotly. "We haven't had any secrets worth telling in years!"

James placed a hand on her wife's shoulder. She twirled brazenly to face him, but deflated a little at his forlorn look. "You don't actually believe them, do you?" she asked, voice dropping. "You don't truly believe our son would betray us?"

He didn't want to. "He offered his arm out to Snape, Lily. Snape!" he said hesitantly.

The door burst open, and James' original son and troupe of friends stumbled in. "We want to help!" Harry said. "Whatever you're planning to get my counterpart back – we can help."

There was a beat of silence.

"Your counterpart is a traitor, Son," Mad-Eye said. "The wards are being altered as we speak. The Champion of Worlds is no longer welcome at Hogwarts."

"What?" Ron spluttered. "He's not a traitor! He was fighting to protect Hogsmeade!"

"Wake up, kid," Mad-Eye growled. "He's probably been waiting for an opportunity like this from the moment he arrived. The only reason he went to Hogsmeade this morning was to go running to the other side."

"That's not true," said Hermione. "He was saving lives. We saw him."

"What we saw was the Champion of Worlds attacking you four, and then go running into the arms of a Death Eater," said Remus.

"He only attacked us because he was trying to stop us from fighting with him!" Harry said.

"He was getting you out of the way!" Mad-Eye growled.

"He was protecting us!" Harry retorted.

"You don't know that," said Shacklebolt evenly. "Let's look at what we do know. The kid practices Dark Magic, he attacked a group of teenagers, and Lily has just been telling us that he has runes on his arm that suggests he's being controlled by someone back in his universe. And if all that wasn't enough, he _willingly_ left the Order. The kid made his decision, and now we have to deal with the consequences."

"He said he had a plan," Ginny spoke up. "Right before he left, he said he was going to let himself get captured. Whatever he'd doing, it has to be for a reason!"

"And we can't just abandon him!" Harry said, turning to his parents. "Look, I know I've insisted that he's evil… but he can't be! He was saving lives, and he's me! He's _me_! So he has to be good!"

James stared at his son, and again, he didn't want to believe it. He wanted to say _yes, I completely agree. You are my son, and you would never become a Death Eater_. But his instincts wouldn't let him say it, because his instincts recognised that there was something deeply wrong with his alternate son.

"We're responsible for protecting the occupants of this castle," James said slowly. "Which means we can't risk having a dark wizard–"

"Dad, no!" his son yelled, throwing up his hands. "Mum even said that he wouldn't bother actually destroying horcruxes if his plan was to run to Voldemort all along!"

"And you said he was a Parcelmouth!" James retorted.

Harry paused and stuttered. "I don't – that's not… Maybe I was wrong!"

James sighed and glanced at Lily, who was biting her lip. "We're not giving up on him. We'll try to bring him back to the side of the light, but not at the expense of the people of Hogwarts."

One of the trinkets on Dumbledore's desk suddenly light up, whirring and sparkling. "Ah, ladies and gentlemen," Dumbledore said, speaking up for the first time. "The wards have been infiltrated. It appears the Champion of Worlds has attempted to return."

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry stood just beyond the wards and gazed up at Hogwarts, glittering before an overcast evening sky. He'd forgotten how beautiful the school could be. He was covered in grit, and his burns were stinging terribly. He just wanted to get clean and collapse, but he knew the Order would have questions. He sighed, allowed himself a moment of silent reprieve in the frosty air, and slowly headed up the banks.

The moment he made contact with the wards, he knew something was wrong. The wards sparkled and came alive, contorting around his hands. He stumbled. He tried to wrench himself free. He let his magic respond instinctively, but the wards just swallowed his magic into itself.

The Order came running from the castle, Mad-Eye Moody leading the charge.

"You've got some nerve showing you face here, boy!" Mad-Eye snarled.

"What are you talking–"

Mad-Eye shoved a wand into his gut, and suddenly his limbs weren't working properly, including his jaw. He sank to the ground, knees slipping in the mud.

"Be careful!" Lily said.

"Mad-Eye, that's enough!" said James.

Harry's heart sank. His parents had their wands out alongside the rest of the Order, gazing at him with pained but no less suspicious eyes.

_You're the monster, the weapon, the enemy_, Hermione whispered.

"I have no sympathy for dark wizards," Mad-Eye growled, glaring at Harry.

Harry growled back at him, trying to force his jaw to work. If he could just _speak_ he could explain everything. He should have anticipated this. He shouldn't have been so naïve as to think the Order would trust him enough to do something like this. The beast in his gut came alive, growling along with him. He swallowed it down.

"What are you doing?" his counterpart cried, running down the slope alongside his friends.

"Harry, go back to the castle," James said severely.

"This is barbaric!" Hermione cried. "The fact that he came back proves he's not working for Voldemort!"

"He could be under orders to massacre us in our sleep," Mad-Eye said.

"Mad-Eye, let him go!" said Ginny. "At least let him defend himself!"

"We don't know how powerful he is!" said Kingsley. "We can't risk it."

"Then what exactly are you achieving here?" his counterpart said hotly.

"They're right," Lily said to Mad-Eye. "Let him speak."

"Lily…" James said hesitantly, placing a hand on Lily's shoulder, but she shook him free, glaring at Mad-Eye.

Mad-Eye turned to Harry. "If you try _anything_, I will make sure you regret it."

Harry glowered at him. The moment he regained control of his limbs he lurched indignantly off his knees, hands still tangled up in the wards. He'd been trying to sort his way through them, but they were just like the wards that had surrounded him when he'd first arrived.

"Well? What have you got to say for yourself?" Kingsley said.

"Do you know where Voldemort's horcruxes are?" he bit out at him. He glared at the others. "Do any of you? No? _Of course not!_ Because you all summoned me here with no direction, no plan – just the mad hope that I would magically have all the answers! The only person who knows where Voldemort's horcruxes are is Voldemort himself, which means _someone_ is going to have to get close enough to him to find out where they are! And since you are all content to just hide out in your happy little castle, that person will have to be me!"

"Then why have you come back?" Kingsley demanded. "If your goal was to be inducted into Voldemort's ranks, why are you here?"

"He wants to use me as a double agent," Harry said. "Which is handy for you, because now we can feed him false information. Now let me go so I can_ do my bloody job!"_

The Order glanced at each other, some still unconvinced. Even his parents remained quiet, causing something in his gut to twinge. He closed his eyes in frustration.

"I get it," he muttered. "I'm not the Champion of Worlds you were hoping for, but I'm all you've got. The only way this is going to work is if you afford me the tiniest bit of trust, otherwise you can go ahead and throw me into Azkaban right now."

"Let him go," Lily spoke up, and Mad-Eye wordlessly complied.

Harry immediately wrenched himself free of the ward and stalked toward the castle.

James tried to stop him. "Harry, I'm-"

"Piss off, James."

He pushed past them, viciously ignoring his stinging burns. His legs felt shaky, but he forced himself to walk with as much dignity as he could muster.

It had gotten dark, and the halls of Hogwarts were empty. It was in the silence of these hallways that he suddenly became aware of the pounding in his chest and in his ears and in the back of his throat. He had to curl his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

He went to the Infirmary and yanked open the door to the Potions Cupboard.

"You again!" Mrs Longbottom squawked. "I thought I told you–"

"_Bite me_!" Harry snarled at her, releasing an involuntary burst of magic. She recoiled. Harry just snatched a vial of burn salve and pushed past her.

Back in the hallway, he came face-to-face with his counterpart, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. He wordlessly pushed past them, too. They didn't say anything, but followed behind.

He ignored them and stalked to his room where he sat heavily on the couch. He unscrewed the lid of the vial and dipped his hand into the jelly-like burn salve. His hands were still shaking. He tried to will them to stop, but that just made them shake harder. He took several shuddering breaths, but the pounding in his ears only got louder. He curled his hands into fists, angry at himself for being this weak.

Ginny snatched the vial from his hands. She scooped some into her own hand and moved gently to apply the salve herself. Harry jerked viciously away from her.

"Get out," he muttered, breath hitching. He couldn't look at them.

"Harry?" Ginny said, crouching in front of him concernedly. "It's okay."

_You're not Harry,_ Hermione's voice continued in the back of his head. _You're Dark Harry… Broken Harry… Monstrous Harry._

"_Piss off, Hermione_!" he snarled.

It wasn't okay. It was never okay. His chest felt tight. James' distrustful eyes swam across his vision. His heart pumped a skipping beat in his chest. His parents hated him. He was beyond irredeemable. He was trapped in this world, in this castle, in this monstrous soul.

"Please get out."

His stomach twisted nauseously. His throat tightened. He tried to swallow back the bile. He was going to be sick. He got to his feet, and the world immediately began to spin and blur. He stumbled to the bathroom and leant over the basin, gripping it with white fingers.

"He's ill!" Hermione said. She lingered in the doorway, hesitating to draw near. "Ron, get a Healer."

"_No_!" Harry bit out, making Ron stop dead. "_I'm – fine_."

The panic was seizing him in waves. He felt like he was going to die. But he couldn't die, could he? He was a monster, with his soul torn loose–

His stomach twisted again. He squeezed his eyes shut, gasping for air.

"Harry, sit down," Ginny said, guiding him down to the floor. "I used to get panic attacks, too. It'll pass."

He'd never thought there would be a word for it. An attack of panic. He'd experienced this before. Too many times. He pressed a hand against his chest and tried to focus on the beat of his heart.

"Straps or Posts," he chanted. "Say it."

"Straps or Posts," Ginny repeatedly hesitantly. "What does that mean?"

He leant his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He suddenly became painfully aware of Ginny crouched before him, with Ron, Hermione, and his counterpart standing concernedly in the doorway.

He rubbed at his scar. "I honestly can't remember, at this point."

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry sat before Professor Dumbledore's desk, glancing between Professor Dumbledore and Remus. The windows had been cast open to let in the unseasonably warm air, and Fawkes sat on a tall stack of books by the window, preening himself.

"I am quite impressed, Mr. Potter. Holding your own before the Dark Lord! You must be quite the accomplished Occlumens," Professor Dumbledore said.

"What's an Occlumens?"

Professor Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "My, my, a natural then! Occlumensy is the ability to keep one's thoughts to oneself, blocking others from using Legilimency to read one's mind. Voldemort is an accomplished Legilimens, so you must be quite the prodigy."

Harry gave a noncommittal shrug.

"Well, regardless, I wanted to formally introduce you to Mr Lupin," said Professor Dumbledore. "You see, Harry, Mr. Lupin has been working as our undercover Death Eater for years, unfortunately to little affect."

"The Dark Lord values but in no way respects werewolves," Remus said with a sad smile.

"Never fear, Mr. Lupin, you have provided us with valuable intel over the years. Do not diminish your worth. I thought you might be able to give Harry some advice, since he now finds himself in the same situation."

"I think I first need to apologise for the Order's actions last night–"

"It's fine," Harry said quickly, fingers drumming against the armrest. "You did what you thought was right. You just turned out to be wrong."

Remus shifted uncomfortably. "Well, your plan appears to be an ingenious one. Do you really think you can get Voldemort to trust you enough to reveal the location of his horcruxes?"

"It's my only option."

"What would you have done if he had immediately inducted you into his ranks?"

"I would have done whatever was necessary to find his horcruxes under the guise of his loyal lieutenant," Harry said sincerely.

"We would have become convinced you had turned on us."

"I never said I'd thought it through."

Remus smiled at that. "Aah, I knew James was in there somewhere."

Harry averted his eyes at that, but didn't miss Professor Dumbledore casting Remus a warning look. Remus muttered something and took his leave while Professor Dumbledore smiled kindly at Harry.

"I'm certain you understand their desire to protect the school. Though you are in fact quite the hero. The people of Hogsmeade are singing your name, and one of the Death Eaters you managed to subdue is on his way to Azkaban."

"Azkaban? But I thought Voldemort was running the Ministry."

"Yes, but the Aurors are still a noble-minded bunch. Most of their arrestees are inevitably freed through some hocus-pocus bureaucracy orchestrated by the Death Eaters in the Wizengamot, but from time to time the Aurors do manage to incarcerate their arrestees before the Death Eaters can get to them." Professor Dumbledore leaned forward. "Now I must ask, how in all that is magical did you get the Dark Lord to trust you?"

"He doesn't trust me yet," Harry said, hesitating. "He's given me a task to prove myself. In seven days, I'm to meet with him again and give him your wand."

Professor Dumbledore did not look surprised, but his expression turned grave. He leant back in his chair and retrieved his wand, studying it for a long, thoughtful moment.

"Do you understand the significance of this wand, Harry?" Professor Dumbledore asked.

Voldemort had already explained that it was the Elder Wand, a Deathly Hallow alongside the Resurrection Stone and the Cloak of Invisibility, and that by uniting the Deathly Hallows, one could become the Master of Death.

Despite this, Harry decided to shake his head. He could practically see Professor Dumbledore debating with himself whether to tell Harry its true significance as a Deathly Hallow or not.

"In the name of the Greater Good, I will allow you to give my wand to Voldemort," Professor Dumbledore said finally. "However, to merely hand it over to him would be folly. Voldemort is aware of how precious this wand is to me. For you to obtain by force, as he expects, would be no small feat. Perhaps it would be prudent for you to return empty-handed, lest he becomes suspicious."

"I'm the Champion of Worlds," said Harry. "I don't think Voldemort would have any doubts over whether I'd be able to overpower you."

"Perhaps, but then you would be revealing the full extent of your powers to him, which cannot be wise. And let us not forget that he is testing you. He may be fully aware that you could be working as my double agent rather than his. We must convince him your actions are your own. You will go to him in seven days and beseech him for a second chance."

Logically, Harry could follow that line of reasoning, but to hear those words come from Professor Dumbledore – it was like hearing a toddler swear. He waited for Professor Dumbledore to dismiss his own thoughts, but he didn't. He just continued to gaze questioningly at Harry with those infuriatingly twinkling eyes.

Professor Dumbledore _had_ to know that Voldemort didn't tolerate failure. That he was condemning Harry to certain torture. _His_ Professor Dumbledore would surely never even think to subject him to that.

"Do you have _any_ idea how Voldemort would react if–" Harry began.

"We must think of the Greater Good," Professor Dumbledore interrupted. "Our moves must be carefully considered if we are to fool Voldemort. Sometimes, one must make small sacrifices now to prevent even bigger sacrifices later. I am confident you will convince him to give you a second chance."

Professor Dumbledore didn't care about him. He really was just a weapon to be wielded. Professor Dumbledore's grandfatherly guise fell from Harry's eyes, and he saw instead a wizard who was willing to do anything to win.

Dumbledore twirled his wand curiously between his fingers. "Though if you do feel so strongly about it, you're more than welcome to take it from me in the manner Voldemort expects you too."

Harry blinked at him in disbelief. He remembered what his Voldemort had said about Dumbledore and the greater good, about Harry always being Dumbledore's soldier, Dumbledore's puppet. He'd refused to think about it, but he could see it now. The manipulation. The strings.

All this time he'd tried to convince himself that these people – Dumbledore, his counterpart, his parents – were just puppets in a play. But it was he who was the puppet, and Dumbledore his ventriloquist.

Something inside him tore lose. He did something reckless, and multiple things happened at once. He lunged for the wand, magic rippling outward. Dumbledore stood abruptly, and at the same time Fawkes leapt into the air, releasing a terrific screech that Harry felt in his bones and clapping his wings together, releasing a blinding burst of light.

It left Harry blind and gasping, ears ringing, world spinning. By the time he was able to blink away the spots before his eyes and clear the ringing from his ears, Dumbledore had left him alone in his office. A cold feeling of dread settled in his gut.

Harry hurried through the halls of Hogwarts, ears ringing, still trying to process what had happened. This Dumbledore was different. He had to be different. His Dumbledore had always been his mentor, his guide, like a father… who had left him with the Dursleys.

He shook his head to get rid of the thought. He refused to think about it. Dumbledore was on the side of the light. He did what he thought was right for the good of the Wizarding World. This was just Voldemort planting dark thoughts and ideas in his head. He wouldn't let Voldemort corrupt Dumbledore like he had corrupted everything else.

Daphne advanced on him from the opposite direction. "Hello again, Thief!" she said in a sugar-sweet voice as she passed by. "What's gotten you so riled?"

Harry didn't answer. She raised her eyebrows at him, but he couldn't speak. She continued past, but Harry reached out and grabbed her arm, barely registering what he was doing. Daphne looked at his hand around her arm and smirked up at him with sharp eyes. They stared at each other in heated silence.

And suddenly he was kissing her. Everything inside him went chaotic. Mind racing, heart thumping. Her fingers danced along his arm and through his air, setting his skin on fire.

Here was a girl who knew what she wanted. Who didn't take shit from anyone. Who owed the world nothing. Kissing her was getting him no closer to finding the horcruxes, to killing Voldemort, to getting home, but he didn't care anymore. He was doing it anyway.

She pulled away and gazed up at him with a Cheshire grin. She reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes.

"Harry Potter," she murmured. "I am going to make the whole school die of jealousy."


	10. I Think I Smell A Rat

**Chapter 9: I Think I Smell A Rat**

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry found himself becoming increasingly restless over the week leading up to the impending doom that would be his meeting with Voldemort. There was nothing he could do until he gained the Dark Lord's trust, and he was suddenly faced with something he hadn't experienced in a long while. Free time.

He spent most of his time avoiding other people – especially members of the Order. Avoiding people had become especially difficult, however, because his counterpart and troupe of friends had apparently decided to make Harry's room their second Common Room. They spent more time in there than he did, and they had long since stopped listening to his threats to get out. Apparently, having a panic attack had humanised him, and now they were insistent on being there to help him.

His merry band of sidekicks were in his room right now, as he idled on the couch with his legs hanging over the armrest, staring at the ceiling, honestly bored out of his mind.

His counterpart and Ginny were on his bed 'studying'. Holly was on the bay window attempting to learn a spell. He overheard her muttering to herself, "Bloody flicking and swishing! Why can't it ever be 'wiggle your wand helplessly'?"

Ron was playing chess against himself, while Hermione was studying at Harry's desk and making not-so-subtle suggestions that Ron and his counterpart should be doing to the same.

"I _am_ studying, 'Mione," Ron said. "It's chess! It's all about strategy and tactics like in a real war."

"Our NEWTs don't examine our ability to play chess!"

"Life is about more than exams, Hermione. Chess will save lives on the battlefield one day!" Ron said. "Dark Harry, back me up on this."

Harry blew out a slow breath and without removing his gaze from the ceiling said, "Ron, I'm going to tell you one fact about my universe and one fact only, so listen closely. Your ability to play chess once saved my life."

"Hah!"

Hermione huffed. "He's just fibbing to make you right. You're all going to regret not studying more."

Harry thought of the Hermione back in his universe. She'd been just as studious, spending so many hours in the library or in her room studying instead of spending time with Ron and Harry. He'd taken so much for granted back then. She must miss them as much as he missed her.

He got up and snatched the parchment she was working on, setting it alight.

"Hey!"

"Ron's right," Harry said as he dusted his hands of soot. "Life is about more than studying. And you're the one who's going to regret not spending more time with your friends."

Hermione spluttered indignantly and gathered her things. "Shouldn't you be off hunting shards of Voldemort's soul or something?" she scowled at him.

Harry shrugged. "I'm hunting a lot of things, Hermione. Horcruxes – Deathly Hallows – a decent night's sleep. But I can't get any of that until the High and Mighty Professor Dumbledore signs my permission slip."

Ron gave him a weird look. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Harry's reply was interrupted by a knock on the door. James stuck his head in sheepishly. "Hi Harry, I was… um," James trailed off in the face of Harry's cold stare. "I was wondering if you still wanted to learn how to become an Animagus? I've got a little spare time – if you want."

Harry's counterpart gasped mockingly. "You _are_ jealous of Tampertail!"

Harry rolled his eyes. He considered saying no. He'd succeeded in avoiding James ever since the Hogsmeade incident, but he _did_ want to become an Animagus, and he would have to learn to work with the Order again eventually.

"Sure," Harry said reluctantly, and left the troupe in his room to follow James out the door.

It took James two flights of stairs to sum up the courage to speak, and once he began, he couldn't seem to make himself stop.

"I wanted to apologise. I should have stuck by you, and I didn't, and I hate myself for it. I keep playing what happened over and over in my head, and I can't believe how stupid I was. I saw you with Snape, and I don't know what came over me. I felt like a fool, I was convinced you had betrayed us. I was wrong – _completely_ wrong, and I'm sorry – after all that talk about sticking by your family!"

"Forget about it," Harry said. "You had every right to distrust me."

James huffed. "Now, don't you go all decent on me, because it will only make me feel worse. Tell me I'm an arsehole! I rejected my own flesh and blood, for crying out loud. Yell at me. Scream at me. Do _something_!"

"Teach me to be an animagus, and we'll call it even," said Harry.

James gave him a small smile and conceded. He came to an abandoned classroom hidden in a cramped little corner of the castle. "This is the classroom we used back in our Hogwarts days. I thought we might as well keep the tradition going."

Harry walked in a froze. His blood turned to ice in his veins. Sirius Black was leaning against one of the desks, arms folded, wearing his trademark easy smile. That in itself was not surprising. What shook Harry to his core was Peter Pettigrew standing beside him.

Harry recoiled. "_Wormtail_!"

Perfectly healthy. Perfectly happy. Perfectly _free._

He was less rat-like, short, but with good posture. He had a head full of sandpaper hair that was only just beginning to thin. He did not fidget on the spot, and there was a healthy rosiness to his cheeks. He almost didn't look like the traitorous scumbag Harry knew him to be. But his lighter looks wouldn't fool him. This was _Wormtail._ The rat. The betrayer. The principle reason Harry's life was one miserable shit-storm after another.

But not in this universe. Here, he'd never had the chance to betray the Potters. They still accepted him. Still loved him. If anything, Wormtail's healthier appearance made Harry loath him even more. He was wearing a façade of decency that only Harry had the capacity to see through.

He couldn't stand looking at him. Couldn't stand that he got to be happy after all the pain that rat had caused him. He turned to James and opened his mouth to speak, to tear the rat to shreds, to make them see what a truly despicable rat he was.

But he couldn't. He stared at James, who he'd always heard was loyal to a fault. Who trusted his friends unconditionally. He couldn't bring himself to shatter the purity of James' trust.

"What's wrong?" James asked.

"This was a bad idea," he muttered, and stormed past him.

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry sat alone at the feast trying not to think of Wormtail. His counterpart and friends came and sat down across from him, as they always did, except this time there was an air of stony silence. Harry glanced at them suspiciously. He'd grown accustomed to a plethora of noise emanating from the troupe. They were always bickering about something.

He narrowed his eyes at them. "What's going on?"

His counterpart tried to glare at him, but it was clear he was stifling a smile. He opened his mouth and said, "Ta webl tings paket ub!"

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Ta wesey wis rankab!"

Fred and George suddenly sat down either side of Harry, making him jump. They wore identical devilish grins.

"Don't worry, Champion of Worlds, you're not going crazy," Fred said.

"Your friends here just can't seem to keep themselves from speaking gobbledygook!"

"We were going to include you in the gag but, well, we actually like you."

"Yarnet ginto gat wawit bis!" Ron declared, the meaning of which was not lost on anyone. _You're not going to get away with this._

The Twins pointedly ignored their brother's indignation and turned to Harry. Fred set a box of colourful assorted sweets in front of Harry. "Could we interest you, perhaps, in some delicious candy?"

Ron viciously shook his head at Harry from across the table. "No thanks," Harry said.

"Too clever for us!" George said. Fred put the box away and replaced it with another. This one was filled with an assortment of curious objects Harry couldn't guess the function of.

"Perhaps instead we could interest you in our patented line of mischief-makers!"

"Do you need to make a quick getaway?"

"Our Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder will provide the perfect impenetrable cover!"

"Want to eavesdrop on other people's conversations?"

"Our Extendible Ears never fail to do the trick! Only three sickles."

"I was summoned here with exactly zero galleons and zero sickles to my name," said Harry.

The Twins immediately began to pack up their little presentation. "Well, that is a shame."

"Don't worry about your friends. They should be perfectly comprehensible again within a day or two."

"Three if we're lucky."

The teens erupted into an incomprehensible burst of indignation at that, but the Twins paid them no heed and sauntered off. They had barely been gone more than a few seconds before a pair of hands planted themselves on Harry's shoulders. He stiffened.

"I thought those blasted twins would never leave!" Daphne said.

She sat down straddling the bench and he was about to ask her what she was doing when he found himself bombarded, overwhelmed, engulfed by her lips against his. A surprised noise burst from the back of his throat and he pushed her away, scandalised. She grinned at him and smacked her lips, still practically sitting in his lap.

"Come on, Harry," she said in a mockingly condescending voice. She glanced around at the open stares they were receiving. "I told you I was going to make the whole school jealous. That's not going to happen if we only make out in broom cupboards."

For the record, they had not made out in a single broom cupboard. Harry could feel his cheeks heating up. The teens sitting across the table were trying – and failing – to contain their surprised guffaws.

"Get off me," Harry snapped.

She scooched down a little and stole a bite of his toast. "So, what did I taste like, Potter?" she asked with a wink. The teens erupted into a fresh burst of laughter. Harry was a little insulted they found this so amusing.

"Like the violation of my personal space," he muttered, putting his head down and trying to ignore the stares and hushed gossiping.

Daphne laughed a high, fake laugh and leaned close to him. "Seriously, Potter. What did I taste like?"

Harry frowned. "What are you talking about? You didn't taste like anything."

Her eyebrows rose. "Nothing at all?"

"Were you supposed to?"

"Well, yeah. My lipstick is laced with Amortentia."

"Amor – what?"

"Amortentia," she repeated. She retrieved a vial from her pocket. "It's a powerful love potion that's supposed to smell and taste like the thing you most associate with love."

She handed the vial to Hermione, who uncorked it and took a whiff. She smiled, eyes going rose-coloured. "Tobbee uples!" she sighed. She handed it to Ron, who had the same reaction along with Ginny and his counterpart. Harry sceptically took the vial and sniffed at it. There was nothing. Not even the hint of a scent.

"You guys are crazy," he said. "It doesn't smell like anything."

"Potter, everyone smells something, because everyone can love. If you can't smell anything then…" Daphne trailed off, then laughed. "Merlin, you really are a dark wizard."

She took the vial from him and bounced off, leaving that bombshell in her wake. Harry frowned at the space she had occupied, thinking of what Dumbledore had said about love being his greatest strength. Had Voldemort corrupted him that much? Had that bleeding horcrux shredded apart his humanity and his ability to experience love itself?

• − ○ ◊ AU Harry ◊ ○ − •

"The cardinal rule of mischief making is that mischief makers don't make mischief on each other!" Harry whined to James.

It had taken until the following morning to stop speaking gibberish. The father and son were making their way down to the Quidditch pitch, broomsticks strung over their shoulders.

"I hope you don't go spouting off that phrase too much, son. It could be taken quite the wrong way," James said. Harry rolled his eyes at his father's dirty mind. "And it's also not true. I used to fool with Sirius all the time – another phrase which could be taken the wrong way. Did I ever tell you about the dog whistle I got–"

"Yes, several times," Harry said quickly.

"I used to blow on it at the worst times" – Harry groaned – "Only Sirius could hear it, and I swear it drove him mental!"

"I wonder if your alternate self annoys my alternate self with his infernal reminiscing like he does in this universe!" Harry grouched.

James immediately sobered. "How is he doing?"

"Who? My Counterpart? He's fine. He's dating Daphne Greengrass, apparently," he said with a shudder. There were rumours about her. No one trusted her since her parents had been Death Eaters.

"He did something really weird yesterday," said James. "He completely freaked out at the sight of Peter. Of course, he hasn't been the same since the incident." James cringed. "Man, I completely screwed up, didn't I? Do you think he'll ever trust us after… you know?"

Harry shrugged. "Don't ask me. I look at him and sometimes it's like looking in a mirror, and then other times I can't imagine ever acting the way he does."

"What happened that night? I know you and your friends followed him."

Harry wondered whether he should answer honestly, but he couldn't stand to lie. "He tried to hide it, but he was kind of crushed. I think he had a panic attack. It might take a while for him to warm up to you again."

"He wasn't all that warm to begin with," James muttered, and they descended into a heavy silence.

"Dad?" Harry asked absently. "Do you remember telling me that story about The Three Brothers?"

"From the Tales of Beedle the Bard? Of course! I loved those stories as a kid."

"Those stories weren't real, were they?"

"Why wouldn't they be?"

"Because… I mean, you can't _talk_ to Death. Are you saying there really is a Death Stick and a Cloak of Invisibility and a Resurrection Stone somewhere out there?"

James eyed his son with a knowing smile. "Where's all this come from?"

"Dark Harry – I mean, my counterpart mentioned that he was hunting the Deathly Hallows."

James' eyes bulged. "Your counterpart is hunting Deathly Hallows?"

"So they're real? They exist?"

James bit his lip. "I was going to wait until you were a bit older to tell you this, but… stuff it. You know that Invisibility Cloak of yours? Well, see, it's been in our family for generations. Any normal cloak's invisibility charms would have worn off by now, but that cloak's different–"

Harry stopped dead and dropped his broomstick. "You have _got_ to be kidding me. It's a _hallow_!? It's _the_ Cloak of Invisibility!?"

James grinned. "You, my son, are one third of the way to becoming the Master of Death. The Friend of Thestrals! The Sire of the Underworld!"

Harry had to remind himself to breathe. _His_ Invisibility Cloak was a legendary Deathly Hallow! He thought he might burst with delight.

"This is it," he breathed. "This is what it's all been leading up to – becoming the Master of Death! I'll unite the hallows – I'll slay the Dark Lord! I'll be the saviour of the Wizarding World!"

"Woah, woah, slow down there, Champ," said James. "It's been a millennium since the other two have even been heard of. Besides, being the Master of Death is some pretty heavy stuff. No one knows what it actually means. Why don't you just focus on your studies before you set forth to become the most powerful wizard known to mankind, hm?"

Harry deflated a little, but was distracted through their entire Quidditch game. He couldn't help but feel that this was meant to be. Of all the people there were in the world, the Cloak of Invisibility had been handed down to him! Perhaps this was his purpose. Something that was meant just for him. He couldn't wait to tell his friends. He thrummed with excitement. He was going to be the Master of Death!


	11. My Beloved Monster

**Chapter 10: My Beloved Monster**

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry pulled away from Daphne, feeling as though he was suffocating.

"Who exactly is going to be so incredibly jealous of us in here?" he asked. They were alone in his room.

"Someone'll walk in eventually," she said flippantly. She raked her fingers through his hair and leaned in again.

"You're insane."

"No, I'm not," she said firmly. "If anything, you're the insane one."

"How do you suppose that?"

"Because whenever we do this, all you do is complain. Yet here we are again."

She gazed into his eyes, a breath apart. Harry frowned back at her. She seemed to be attempting to divine the secrets of the universe from his irises, and he was getting the firm impression that she was seeing right through him, right into all the cracked corners of his mind.

"What do you find so fascinating about me?"

She shrugged. "You amuse me."

"I _amuse_ you?"

"You _delight_ me, Thief. All these people walking around this school are so boring with their family values and their principles. Good and bad are so black and white to these people. It's infuriating! But you understand. You're the mystery everyone's been trying to unravel. Now, you must have a proper sob story… a past full of painful truths and harsh realities… and I want to hear it."

"What makes you so special that I'll tell you when I've told no one else?"

"Because I'll understand like no one else can," she returned easily. "I'm working with the very people who killed my parents. No one in this entire school trusts me enough to give me the time of day – because apparently I'm mad, because I'm a Slytherin – and you're _clearly_ a Slytherin. We're probably the only two Slytherins in the entire school. We need to look out for each other."

"I'll have you know I was sorted into Gryffindor."

She gave him a condescending look. "You liar."

There was the sound of a doorhandle rattling. Daphne was on him again so suddenly that he lost his balance and fell backward, off the couch onto the floor with Daphne following him down and landing on top of him with a thud.

"Harry? Are you in here?" James asked. "I thought maybe just you and I could – oh."

"Sorry, I–" Harry began. He moved to get up, but Daphne planted her knee on his chest and put her full weight on it, making him gasp.

"Sorry about that, Mr. Potter," she said sweetly. Harry tried to wrestle out from underneath her, but she'd surreptitiously cast something that made that impossible. "We simply lost track of time! I'll give him back in just a moment."

She gave James a pleasant smile while holding his alternate son captive beneath her. Harry couldn't figure out what the hell she'd cast to overpower him. He probably could have escaped if he really wanted to, but he didn't want to accidentally hurt her. There was something about the confusing hopelessness of his situation and the absurd fact that his alternate father had just caught him with a girl that made him release a baffled, frustrated, absurd burst of a laugh.

James gave him a bewildered look. "Okay – I guess. I'll – erm, I'll just… give you some privacy."

When the door closed again, Daphne finally turned her attention to Harry, grinning down at him with glinting eyes.

"How are you doing this?" he asked.

"That is for me to know, and you to – never – find out," she said. She ended the curse and got to her feet. She went to the bathroom and used the mirror to straighten herself. "Do you think James was surprised?" she asked from the doorway.

"I'm just glad he didn't burst out laughing like my counterpart did," Harry muttered.

"That's just because you're so forever dignified and in-control. It's fun to see you all flustered. Are you going to see what he wants?"

"I guess," he said reluctantly, moving to the door.

"Hang on," Daphne said. She leaned up and ran her fingers through his hair, presumably in an attempt to make it look presentable.

"That'll never work," he said, making for the door. She followed, fiddling with his tie and shirt.

In the corridor, James looked him up and down with raised eyebrows. "I see you two have been having a bit of fun."

Harry glanced down at himself and suddenly realised what had happened. His shirt was crinkled, half untucked and unbuttoned. His tie was undone, there was a bite mark on his neck, and Daphne had no doubt messed up his hair to make it even more of a train-wreck than usual. Meanwhile, Daphne stood beside him looking perfectly pristine and presentable, without a stray hair in sight.

She smiled innocently at him. "I'll see you around, Thief," she said, and skipped off. Harry blinked after her.

"Well, anyway," said James. "I was wondering if you still wanted to learn to become an Animagus – just with me and Sirius. No Peter."

James was trying to act cool, but Harry could see how much his father wanted him to say yes. Perhaps he could allow himself this one thing. This one chance to spend time in the presence of James Potter. This was, after all, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

"Okay," Harry said, and James broke into a grin.

They went back to the same classroom as last time, where Sirius was waiting for them. He'd been occupying himself with the tattoos inked along his arms. Animals bounded and skipped across the surface of his skin playfully when Sirius jabbed them with his finger.

"Welcome to Animagus Training 101!" Sirius said with a grin.

"I didn't know you could get tattoos that moved," Harry said as he examined the animals.

Sirius flexed his arms. "Yeah, there's a vendor in Diagon Alley. Pretty neat, eh?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted.

"Now, time for Professor Black and Professor Potter to teach you the art of becoming some badass creature!" Sirius said, rubbing his hands together. "The first step is to try and figure out what your form will be. The more you know about it, the easier it will be to transform."

They had Harry sit on the floor and James handed him a glass full of a swirling blue potion.

"Drink this, then lean back, and try to relax. With any luck, your form will reveal itself to you in your mind," said James.

"It's going to make me hallucinate?"

"Yeah, but it's a controlled hallucination. You'll still be aware of what's real and what's not. It's important to try and remain calm."

Surrounded by his dead father and long-lost Godfather wasn't exactly his idea of a safe space, but Harry nevertheless accepted the glass. He drank the sweet-smelling potion and could immediately feel himself going light-headed. He leant back and closed his eyes.

James said, "Okay, this is going to require some concentration. Just relax… don't try to imagine any specific animal. Lett your mind wander. Let the potion do its work. You should _feel_ the animal you're supposed to be more than anything."

Harry took a deep breath, feeling disconnected and very far back from the surface of his mind, lost in a mess of subconscious. All he could see was the blackness of his eyelids, with those strange cloudy lights sparkling across his vision. There was suddenly a deep, rattling growl that thundered eerily in his ear drums. He gasped, eyes flying open.

"No, no, eyes closed," James said, covering Harry's eyes with his hand. "What's there?"

The growl came again, softer this time. It was almost melancholy. But all he could see was blackness, a thriving darkness. It seemed to shift and move. As though it was alive. Then there was a flash. A glint.

"Scales," he said. They were a deep, glossy black, wafting metallically in and out of the blackness. They filled him with an inexplicable sense of dread.

"Keep searching," Sirius said. "The more we know, the better."

Harry tried to swallow down his apprehension. The scales engulfed his vision, followed by the flash of claws – or were they fangs –

He flinched. "Stop!" he burst out. He sat up too quickly, and was hit with a wave of dizziness.

"Here, drink this," James said, pressing a glass full of orange liquid into his hands. He swallowed it down, and immediately the world turned itself the right way up. "What did you see?"

"I don't know," Harry said slowly. "I saw black scales, and claws – or teeth…"

"Sounds like something cold-blooded," James said.

"A lizard? A snake?" Sirius suggested, distaste seeping into his voice.

Harry stared at the vial in his hand. His form, whatever it was, felt synonymous with darkness. It had not occurred to him that his monstrosity might be personified by his Animagus form. What would James do then, when he realised that every part of Harry's mind and soul was cracked?

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

It was one thing to endure pain. It was quite another thing to know precisely when that pain would come. Harry paced in front of his bay window, occasionally glancing up at the sun as it crept its way toward the horizon. The closer it got, the more pronounced that world-ending, gut-wrenching feeling of dread in his chest became.

The teens were not paying his restless pacing any heed. Harry half-listened to their frivolous conversation about the upcoming Christmas Ball. How Hermione and Ginny were having their gowns made from scratch by Mrs. Weasley. How Fred and George were planning an afterparty in the Gryffindor Common Room and rumour had it they had cases upon cases of Firewhiskey. How there was going to be a firework display for the first time. Their conversation only served to make Harry's mood even fouler.

He ignored them, and when Holly came in trailing two friends behind her, he ignored them as well, even though he was getting increasingly frustrated that these _children_ treated his room like a public space.

Holly made a beeline for her brother. "Harry, I need help," she said. It suddenly occurred to him how often Holly went to her brother for aid. She was always badgering him for favours or advice.

"What's up?" his alternate self asked, forever happy to oblige.

"We can't figure out whether Ashwinder Eggs are used in love potions or in love potion antidotes."

"Oh, well technically it's used in both. In a love potion it needs to be frozen first, and in the antidote it needs to be in powdered form," Hermione said.

"That's what I said!" one of Holly's friends said smugly. "You should have asked me."

"Well, Colin, you should have talked louder," Holly grouched.

Harry froze, head whipping around to stare at Holly's friends. Colin Creevey. Young and happy. Perfectly alive. Within the walls of Hogwarts where he belonged. It had been over two years since Voldemort had murdered him in Harry's universe. He resisted the urge to clutch at the shackle beneath his sleeve, breathing going shallow.

"Get out," he said, swallowing thickly.

Everyone turned to him, and Harry suddenly recognised Holly's other friend. He had an easy smile, with tousled golden hair and an easy smile. Like a Greek God. It was the soldier boy. The kid who'd gotten into the Cage to fight him when all he could see were Monsters.

"Take your friends and go," he said with a quiet ferocity, focusing his gaze on Holly, and only Holly.

She glanced at her friends. "What have you got against Colin and Nigel?"

Harry flinched. _Nigel._ He hadn't wanted to know his name. His counterpart was right. He was evil through and through. The Monster. How could they not see that? Why hadn't they thrown him into Azkaban yet? Did he deserve anything less? He tore his gaze away and glanced to the window. His stomach dropped at the sight of the glowing red sun, just touching the tips of the horizon. It was time.

"Just – keep your friends away from me," he growled agitatedly, fetching his wand. "And stop going to your brother for help all the time."

"What's wrong with asking for help from my brother?"

He couldn't believe how naïve that question was. He stopped in his tracks. "The fact that you're _always_ asking for help! What are you going to do the day you need his help more than ever, and he's not there?"

"Is that what happened to you?" she shot back. "Did one of us let your down? Is that what you've had to do all this time? Fight for yourself? Never ask for help? What a lonely life."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You all _care_ so much about each other. Someday you'll realise that the more you care, the more you have to lose. Like right now, I'm probably about to lose my _freaking mind_ because I care so bloody much about getting back to my universe!"

"What are you talking about?" his counterpart asked. "Where are you going?"

"To Voldemort," he said with a bitter, ironic smile. "Who will either attempt to kill me or at the very least–" He stopped himself. He was talking to children. You didn't tell children the whole painful truth. You lied to protect their naivety.

"What!?" his counterpart spluttered.

"Why would you do that?" said Hermione.

"You said he trusted you!" Ron said.

"Voldemort won't trust me until I give him Dumbledore's wand. I told Dumbledore, and he decided it would be a _brilliant_ idea if I went back emptyhanded to make it more _believable_."

"Professor Dumbledore wouldn't do that!" his counterpart said, jumping to his feet. "Maybe he doesn't realise how serious Voldemort's reaction would be–"

"He understands well enough," Harry muttered, making for the door. "So why don't you all stay here in your happy little fantasy land while I–"

His counterpart raced to block his path. "So don't go! You said he'll kill you!"

"This is the way it has to be."

"No, it doesn't!" his counterpart insisted. "Go to Mum and Dad! They'll stand up for you!"

Harry rolled his eyes. He slipped his wand into his hand. "Get out of the way, buddy."

His counterpart's expression hardened with determination. "I won't let you do this."

Harry stared at his counterpart for a moment, just to test his resolve. When his counterpart didn't move, Harry reacted, but this time his counterpart was ready. His Immobulus was easily blocked and returned with a flurry of Stupefies. Harry spun out of their path in exasperation. He didn't have the patience for this.

His counterpart paused, waiting for Harry to return fire. As though this was a card game where each player had their turn. Harry didn't cast a spell. He seized the front of his counterpart's robes and hurled him aside, shoving him into the arms of Holly and her undead pals.

"Don't go!" his counterpart said when Harry turned to leave. "You'll die!"

"No, I won't," Harry returned. "I'm bloody invincible."

• − ○ ◊ AU Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry burst into his parents' room. "How could you do that? How could you let him leave?" he exploded.

"What are you talking about?" asked James.

"Dark Harry! My counterpart! How could you just let him go get killed – or tortured?"

Lily and James shared a look. Lily repeated severely, "_What are you talking about_?"

Harry paused. "You – you don't know."

"Harry, tell us everything," James said with forced calm.

Harry explained what had happened, and watched the colour drain from his parents' faces. James was having trouble forming words.

"Harry, I want you to back to his room with your friends and wait for him to come back. He _will_ come back. He's capable," Lily said firmly. "Wait all night if you have to. Keep the Marauder's Map open. When he comes back – help him however you can."

"Me? Shouldn't we get a Healer? Shouldn't you be there?"

Lily shook her head stiffly. "This isn't about us. If he's hurt, he's more likely to accept help from you than he is from anyone else. Especially us."

James suddenly leapt to his feet with silent ferocity.

"Where are you going?"

_"Albus," _he growled, hands clenched.

"I'm coming with you," Lily said, she turned to Harry. "You can do this, Harry. Just look after him."

And they both hurried from the room in a haze of fury. They burst into Dumbledore's office and found the old wizard standing outside in the dim, dusky light on the balcony.

"How dare you!" James burst out. "How dare you send my son off like that – like a disposable lemming!"

"He's not your son, Mr Potter," Dumbledore said in an infuriatingly measured voice. "He has made it clear that his decisions are entirely his own."

"Clearly not!" James said hotly. "You gave him no choice but to go back emptyhanded, knowing it was completely within your power to avoid it!"

"You must think of the Greater Good."

"What about Harry? Who's thinking of him?" Lily interjected.

Dumbledore sighed. "You two have an obligation to your children. I have an obligation to the entire Wizarding World. I am the leader of the Order of the Phoenix because I am the only one capable of making these difficult decisions."

"What kind of leader sense a soldier into battle with nothing?"

"The kind of leader that knows one battle will not win an entire war."

Lily turned disgustedly away from Dumbledore. "You should have told us."

"I suppose for that I do have to be apologetic. He asked me not to–"

"That doesn't matter!" James said. "I know why you didn't tell us! It's because you still don't trust us after that whole debacle with the Secret Keepers–"

"That has nothing to do with–"

"You don't trust us!" James said. "Because we changed our Secret Keepers and we didn't tell you. You've never treated us the same, and now you're using our son as a puppet to punish us!"

"That could not be further from the truth," Dumbledore said coldly. "I am not a vindictive old fool. I am simply trying to rid this world of the Dark Lord, and if I must do that by puppeteering the Champion of Worlds, then that is what I will do!"

"You better hope he comes back," Lily spat. "Otherwise, James and I are taking our children out of this blasted school, and rest assured we will be telling anyone who'll listen that Albus Dumbledore does not care about those under his protection!"

• − ○ ◊ AU Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry glanced at the clock for the first time in exactly eight seconds, and glanced away, only to look again four seconds later. 1:53 am. Exactly six minutes and twenty-two seconds until two in the morning. Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen –

He tore his eyes from the clock and scrubbed his eyes. He and Ginny were seated on his counterpart's couch while Hermione and Ron were on his bed, having descended into an exhausted silence hours ago. The Marauder's Map and the leather journal both lay open on the coffee table.

The door opened. They jumped, but it was Daphne. She surveyed the room and took in their collection of sombre faces.

"Where's my Harry?" she asked with dreary confusion.

"Getting himself killed," muttered Ron.

Harry explained everything while staring at the far wall.

"So you're all just sitting around waiting to see if he comes back… possibly dying," she said slowly, stepping into the room and making herself comfortable on the couch beside them. "And what are you planning to do when he does come back?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Hermione. "We'll help him, of course."

"Come on, guys," said Daphne condescendingly. "For how long have you known him, now? He's not the type to accept help from anyone. He's the kind of person who, after having all his limbs chopped off, would stubbornly insist that it was just a flesh wound. We're going to need to figure out a plan of attack."

"We shouldn't have to pretend like he's some wild animal–" Hermione began.

"Wrong. That's exactly what we need to do. A wild animal doesn't understand that we're trying to help it. All it knows is its base instincts of fight or flight. We're going to treat him like a lion with a broken leg. With a healthy amount of caution, and without even the barest hint of pity."

"And who made you the expert on Dark Harry's character?" scowled Ron.

Daphne winked at him. "I'm pretty sure I can confidently say that I've gotten the _closest_ to him out of all of us, wouldn't you say?"

Ron scoffed with disgust and opened his mouth to retort, but Ginny interrupted him, leaning over to inspect the map. "Guys," she said, pointing at a set of footprints making their haphazard way toward the castle. "He's back."

* * *

Okay, I'm aware that this is in no way the process of becoming an animagus, but I honestly don't have the energy to write in the whole long-winded, months-long and ludicrously specific process that is canon.

Also, gold star if you recognised the Monty Python reference!


	12. Are You Afraid of Me Now?

**Chapter 11: Are You Afraid of Me Now?**

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

"I failed you, My Lord," Harry said, tensing before Lord Voldemort's narrowed eyes. He knelt before Voldemort in the Shrieking Shack with the old house creaking around them. "I require me time to–"

Voldemort twisted, arching his wand upward so that the cutting curse slashed diagonally across Harry's torso. He jolted. A guttural groan escaped him.

"You do not make requests of me!" Voldemort hissed. "You may be _more than a Death Eater_ in your world, but here you are no better than those Mudblood scum until you have proven yourself!"

Harry forced himself to stand straight, pressing a hand against his chest. It came away hot and sticky, and in a wave his chest suddenly felt as though it was on fire.

"Yes, My Lord," he bit out. Somehow, despite everything, those words were easier to say when he knew in his heart that he was actively working to destroy this Voldemort. "I will not rest until I bring you the Elder Wand."

Voldemort lifted his wand lazily. "And neither will you rest tonight."

The excruciating and all-too-familiar pain of the Cruciatus Curse ripped through his being. He tried to stifle the screams, but they burst from him, writhing uncontrollably. His entire body was on fire, red-hot knives piercing his skin, acid clawing through his organs. He screamed, wanting more than anything for it to stop. For everything to stop – to sink into nothingness, to cease to exist, to be _done_ with everything. He fought to keep a hold of himself. _Harry, Harry, Harry. _He was stronger than this! _I'm Harry. Just Harry._ But those words had lost all meaning. He was Harry the monster. Harry the beast.

He lost all sense of time, all sense of self. He was back in the Dungeons, staring at himself in chains, black blood glistening across his skin. All that existed was himself and the pain. All of the future and all of the past was nothing but suffering–

The pain fell away. He gasped for breath, shuddering, face pressed against the floorboards. He haphazardly forced himself off the floor and into a kneel. He could feel his bones grating against each other. His muscles spasmed and shuddered, pain sparkling across his skin. He'd never felt an aftermath to the Cruciatus Curse like this before. He felt a wave of disorientation. How long had he been under? He'd lost all sense of time. He couldn't tell if it had been minutes or hours.

Voldemort lowered himself down so that they were eye-level, all hints of anger gone. "Now tell me, Champion of Worlds, why should I spare your life? Why should I grant you a second chance after this failure?"

Harry tried to catch his breath and painstakingly lifted his sleeve to reveal the gleaming black shackle. He held it out for the Dark Lord to see, swallowing back the bile.

"I failed you once before, and this is the price I paid," he said. "This reminds me of my mistakes, and I have never forgotten. I repaid my debt, and I proved myself again. I will do the same now, if you grant me this opportunity. You will not regret it."

Voldemort studied the shackle with pale, spidery fingers and sneered down at the words carved into it. _Until the final price._

"What is the final price?" he asked slowly.

"Death."

The sides of Voldemort's mouth twitched upward into a private, sadistic kind of smile, eyes shifting between Harry and the shackle. "Alright, Champion of Worlds. Another seven days. Do not bother coming back without the wand unless it is indeed death that you desire."

Voldemort stood, still smiling. Smoke rose from the ground, and a moment later Voldemort disapparated in a black shroud, leaving Harry alone in that creaking house. He pulled his sleeve over the shackle and shakily got to his feet. His entire body felt unhinged, as though someone had come along and unscrewed all his joints. He took several shuddering breaths and told himself he was fine. It was just the Cruciatus Curse. It hurt like a bastard, but was ultimately harmless.

It didn't feel that way, however, as he slowly made his way from the Shrieking Shack back up to the castle. The gash across his chest, which had been previously numbed by the Crucio, was beginning to throb.

He realised with a start that it was early morning. The faintest echoes of the morning light were beginning to streak across the sky. He'd spend the whole night beneath Voldemort's Crucio.

He got his room, and of course, his troupe of alternate friends were waiting for him. They jolted awake and jumped to their feet. Harry closed the door, leant hard against it, and slid to the floor. Deathly pale, eyes hard, jaw locked in a grimace.

"Get out," he said, painfully aware that he was blocking the only exit.

"What's wrong? Where are you hurt?" his counterpart asked urgently.

How was this happening again? First the panic attack, and now this. How were they always there to witness his weakest moments? He didn't need this. He didn't need their pity. Suffering was not a public endeavour. He glanced down at his chest, body tremoring, and noticed the blood soaked through his robes. His right hand was stained red.

Daphne and Ginny crouched beside him. "Harry, you're getting our help whether you like it or not, so just tell us what's…" Daphne's gaze fell on his red hand and his chest, and she visibly paled. She stood, covering her mouth with her hand, and withdrew with a sickly expression. "There's a gash…" she said weakly.

"I can heal myself," Harry muttered.

He moved to gingerly peel off his blood-stained robes, but stopped upon realising that this would leave him completely bare – shackle, scars, runes, and all. Ginny tried to help him, but he caught her by the wrist, blood smudging against her freckled skin, and shook his head stiffly.

"I'm fine. You can go."

"Harry, you're about to bleed to death."

"See what I mean? The lion hates being out of control," Daphne said, but she was hanging back, looking anywhere but at Harry.

"I'm not out of control," Harry ground out, but his body was making a liar out of him. Pain crawled across his skin like fiery ants. The room felt impossibly hot, and it was beginning to spin dizzily. "What's happening to me?" he muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

"You've got Scrimgeour's Shudder," Hermione said with sudden realisation.

"What the hell is that?" Ron asked.

"It's a condition that sometimes develops after prolonged exposure… to the Cruciatus Curse," she said quietly.

The teens glanced at each other with forlorn looks. Harry glowered up at them with bitter exasperation. "All of you can _fuck right off_ with your pity!" he said, words slurring together.

"How do we help him?" his counterpart asked Hermione.

"I don't…" Hermione began, looking a little lost. "I'm not sure if there's an antidote. Symptoms usually only lasts a few hours."

"Start by healing his chest! He's bleeding everywhere!" Daphne said agitatedly.

Ginny gasped beside him and tried to hide it by covering her mouth. Harry suddenly realised that he was still holding her wrist in a vice-like grip. He pried his hand free guiltily and glared at the crimson blood, glistening red against his skin. It seemed throb at him, taunting him.

"I don't…" he began, but his stomach twisted nauseously. The world tilted dangerously, blackness clouding his vision. He realised he was about to fall unconscious. "No – not here…"

Not in front of them, unconscious, left completely to their will. Someone was saying something, but everything suddenly felt impossibly far away. He blinked rapidly, swallowing thickly, trying to maintain some grip on reality, but unconsciousness came in an unyielding wave, sweeping him out into the darkness.

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry came to his senses slowly, from visions of clouds. Light was assaulting against his eyelids, and he opened them blearily to realise that he was asleep on his bed… the same bed he hadn't touched once since arriving in this universe – and Daphne asleep beside him. He jerked up, leaping away from the bed as though it had bitten him.

He gasped, a slight electric jolt running through him and blackness clouding over his vision for a moment. His head felt heavy and sluggish, as though it was stuffed with cotton wool. He lifted a hand to his forehead, and that's when he noticed his shackle. The chain links were swinging freely from his wrist. He wasn't wearing a shirt. He was completely bare save, thankfully, for a pair of trousers.

Daphne rubbed her eyes and gazed blearily up at him with a small, sleepy smile. Her hair was strewn in an unruly mess around her head, and strewn across the bed were empty potion bottles and towels. She was staring right up at him, and he'd never felt so exposed in his life. That familiar feeling of shame came over him. A thousand questions popped into his brain, but only one prevailed.

"Why am I topless?" he asked hoarsely.

Daphne sat up, brushing her fingers through her hair. "We had to heal that gash on your chest. You also had a cursed fever from Scrimgeour's Shudder. We had to cool you down the Muggle way with damp towels." Her gaze tracked downward to the shackle. She tilted her head curiously. "So do you wear it as an edgy accessory or is it stuck there?"

She asked it so casually, as though the answer was about as important as what she'd had for dinner last week. How could she possibly know the misery that blasted shackle represented? He resisted the urge to grab at it, to hide in from view, and curled his hands into fists to stop himself. He refused to break Daphne's gaze, as though he would be admitting something if he looked away.

"You need to leave," he said quietly.

Daphne raised her eyebrows. "You want to try that again? How about 'Thank you for staying up with me all night until my fever finally broke at six in the morning!'"

He glanced away. "I've dealt with worse."

"Oh, I'm aware. We saw the scars on your back. You remember when I said I wanted to hear your sob-story? I think I can pretty much piece it together myself, what with the shackle and the runes and the flogging scars and the antisocial prison attitude–"

"_Get out!_" Harry snarled, a burst of magic escaping from his hands.

Daphne jumped to her feet, staring at him with wide eyes. She gave him the look of contempt that only teenaged girls could muster and wordlessly stalked from the room.

When he was sure she wasn't coming back, Harry sank onto bed and stared hatefully, tiredly, down at that gleaming shackle. There was no coming back from this. There was no explaining away those scars. Every day they came closer to the truth, and he didn't know how to stop it.

He spent all morning hiding in his room. He couldn't bring himself to walk out that door and possibly come face to face with his counterpart or his alternate friends, knowing they had seen the shackle, and the scars. What he wanted more than anything in that moment was a round in the Cage. An opportunity to simplify his world to just himself and his opponent to remind himself that he could be strong after being so weak.

It got to midday when his restlessness finally overpowered his shame. He ventured to the Great Hall, noticing absently that Christmas Decorations had been put up overnight, and came across quite the unexpected sight.

James stood at the centre of a large crowd of students on top of a raised platform, lecturing on the proper way to duel. Harry was reminded of the Duelling Club Gilderoy Lockhart had held back in his Hogwarts days. James had quite the crowd surrounding him, including not only students but adults too, with even Professor Dumbledore surveying the goings-on from the back of the hall.

"You must always remember your fighter's stance," James was saying. "Bend your knees, and never drop your wand below your hips!"

James had two volunteers get onto the platform to stage a duel which consisted of a tediously slow back-and-forth between the two wizards which would have made any Death Eater die of hysterics. The two wizards were finally dismissed, and James rubbed his hands together as he surveyed the crowd of students.

"Alright, now let's step it up a little with some more seasoned contenders…" James caught Harry's eye and his eyes lit up. "… such as the Champion of Worlds! Glad to hear you got back in one piece, Harry! Now why don't you come and show us what you're made of, eh?"

Harry knew he should refuse. That his vast knowledge of primarily dark spells would do nothing for his reputation, and that he was still fatigued from Scrimgeour's Shudder, but he desperately needed a round in the Cage. He pushed his way through the crowd and jumped onto the platform to James' distinct pleasure.

"Excellent! Now who to pit you against… how about a duel between father and son, hm? So long as you don't go easy on me, son!"

"Keep calling me 'son' and I assure you that won't be a problem," Harry muttered, but he'd had a much better idea. "If you want to show your students what a real duel looks like, you'll pit me against Albus Dumbledore."

He hadn't forgotten the incident with Fawkes in Dumbledore's office. He'd been rendered helpless by a flick of the wrist. He had to prove to himself and to Dumbledore that he was better than that. Stronger than that. He'd done as Dumbledore said, he'd walked the plank and taken the plunge into Voldemort's wrath. Now he was going to get that wand.

"That would be quite inappropriate, Mr Potter," Dumbledore said.

"This isn't about your delicate sensibilities," Harry said forcefully. "It's about teaching these kids what fighting in a war is really like. No Death Eater waits their turn to attack."

Dumbledore studied him for a moment. A look of wise understanding came over the old wizard, as though he knew exactly what Harry was doing and why. He hated that condescending look. Dumbledore conceded, and took his place down the other end of the platform.

"No flaming birds this time," said Harry.

Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. "As you wish."

Harry didn't wait for his turn, or for Dumbledore to be 'ready', or even for James to jump of the stage, and with the rush of magical energy that ensued, he felt himself come alive again. The lethargy left over from Scrimgeour's Shudder evaporated, leaving only an intense desire to defeat Albus Dumbledore, but Albus Dumbledore wasn't about to be shown up by a seventeen-year-old.

There was no casual back-and-forth between the two of them. No game of chess. This was a war. They both hurled curse after curse, blocking, dodging, and firing in a chaotic mess of flashes and bursts. Harry loved every moment of it. It had been a while since he'd had a proper duel with anyone. He tried to keep his choice of spells light, but he found the darker spells rolling off his tongue on impulse. Dumbledore was not perturbed, firing off some nasty spells of his own. Harry parried them with a grin.

The duel wore on, with neither wizard any better or worse off than the other. Harry sent an Immobulus Curse crawling along the floor and tried to distract Dumbledore with a burst of bright cutting curses, but Dumbledore was not fooled, and blocked all of them with ease. If Harry was going to win, he was going to have to get devious. Perhaps even cheat. After all, did Dumbledore not cheat when he summoned Fawkes?

He cast another cutting curse, but this time arched his wand a little too far to the left. The cutting curse struck an unsuspecting James, who cried out in surprise, though the gash was barely paper-deep across his shoulder.

"James!" exclaimed Harry, pretending to falter. Dumbledore immediately halted his onslaught, turning his gaze to James with concern.

Then Harry wordlessly, wandlessly, motionlessly summoned Dumbledore's wand to him. The wand flew through the air, and Dumbledore just watched it go. It landed in a grinning – and slightly disbelieving – Harry's hand.

"Well done," Dumbledore said graciously, clasping his hands together. "I see the ritual chose correctly in summoning you, as powerful and crafty as you are. I am confident you will guide us into a new era–"

Harry's grin soured. Trust Dumbledore to turn his own defeat into a self-congratulatory sermon. He scowled and jumped from the platform, gripping the Elder Wand with white knuckles. He pushed his way through the students, but James caught him by the arm, one hand pressed to his shoulder.

"Harry! Your counterpart told use about what happened last night… Are you alright?"

"Better than ever," Harry said quickly, and he meant it. His magic was still thrumming through him, and he had the Elder Wand. James was giving him an amused look, and Harry suddenly realised he was grinning again. He tried to wipe it from his face, and escaped out of the Great Hall, back to his room where he collapsed onto his couch in relief.

The duel had left him more drained than he'd like to admit and he chose to believe it was because he was still recovering from Scrimgeour's Shudder. He studied the Elder Wand. It just looked like an ordinary wand to him. He managed five minutes of silent reprieve before his alternate friends burst in and made themselves at home.

"That was _awesome_!" said Ron.

"You're basically Merlin!" chimed Holly.

"_Mate_," his counterpart said, laying a hand on Harry's shoulder beseechingly. "I'm you. You're me. You _have_ to show me your ways! Teach me to be as badass as that!"

"Does it look like I have the patience to teach?"

His counterpart became distracted by the Dumbledore's wand. He promptly transformed into Tampertail, snatched the wand from Harry, and scampered to the other side of the room.

"Hey! Give that back, _now!_"

His counterpart transformed back into himself and marvelled at the wand. He clearly didn't realise he was holding the Elder Wand, Harry could tell that much. Which mean he also did not realise that he may have just stolen the wand's loyalties.

"I take it this means you're feeling better, Harry?" Hermione asked. She was picking up all the bottles still strewn across his bed.

"I'm great."

"We were wondering if we could talk to you… about the scars."

Harry's chest tightened. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Are they from when Voldemort kidnapped you in your world?" his counterpart asked.

"_What_?" he asked severely, stomach dropping. How did they find out? How could they know? Why hadn't the Order come and dragged him–

"Dumbledore told us about the memory you showed him of Voldemort trying to torture you into joining him."

Harry inwardly sighed a breath of relief. "Of course he did," he muttered. Daphne barged in and Harry let out a frustrated groan. "You people really need to learn to knock before–"

Daphne dropped her bag to the floor and straddled him right there on the couch, engulfing him with her lips against his. The teens burst into sounds of disgust.

When she pulled away, Harry said, "And you need to learn to wait for consent."

She smirked. "As you have just displayed in front of half the school, you were more than capable of stopping me if you'd wanted to."

He couldn't find a flaw in her logic.

She glanced at the others. "Am I interrupting something?"

"We were just asking Harry about the scars," said Ginny.

She turned her gaze to Harry with raised eyebrows, clearly interested as well. Harry sighed in exasperation. "I slipped and fell into a vat of rakes – there, happy?"

Daphne snorted. "No one is going to believe that."

"Too bad. It's the only explanation I'm giving."

"Well in that case, why not make it a bit grander? Say you were mauled by a bear or something."

Harry gave her a sour look. "Fine," he muttered. "I was caught in the rain, and someone cursed it to rain knives."

She laughed, flashing a row of white teeth. He couldn't help noticing the way her hazel eyes glinted at him. The way her strawberry blonde hair fell onto her face. How one lock in particular had fallen across her cheek, just grazing the edge of her thin upper lip.

"Everyone, get out," said Harry, eyes trained on the girl in front of her. "Leave the wand."

"Of all the girls in this school you could have picked, you chose _her_?" his counterpart moaned. "I can't believe we're the same person."

"If you don't like it, don't watch."

"You shouldn't date her," Holly declared. "She just wants to sink her claws into you."

Daphne threw her head back and laughed. "Get out, kids! I need to tear your Champion of Worlds to shreds." The teens conceded defeat and filed out. When the door snapped shut, the glint in her eyes returned. "That was impressive what you did in the Great Hall, Potter. Please wipe the floor with Albus Dumbledore more often."

She pressed her lips to his again. Everything inside him went haywire. Heart pumping. Mind racing. Hands searching. She had one of her hands curled into his hair. The other tracked along his chest, across his shoulder, down his arm, gripping onto the shackle–

He blanched. "Don't."

She gave him a disappointed look without halting her search. She lifted back his sleeve and handled with the shackle with thin, pale fingers, studying its intricacies. Harry tried to go slack, to let her look at it freely, but her hands around it made him cringe with discomfort. He watched her face go solemn as she traced a finger across the words engraved into the metal.

_Until the final price._

"I'm sorry," said Harry.

"For what?" she asked without looking up from the shackle.

"For unleashing on you this morning."

She smiled. "Don't be, Little Thief. It was an honest moment. I love honest moments, where someone can be nothing but their simplest, purest self. I don't see many of those moments from you."

They both went still and silent. Harry just looked at her, wondering what it was like to be her. He hadn't seen many honest moments from her, either. She was all sharp smiles and glinting eyes. Like a knife.

She sat back. "You know, sometimes I think we'd all be better off as Muggles. Like, maybe all this magic is too much power for people to have. Every conflict that ever occurred in the Wizarding World could be traced back to one wizard wanting more power over another."

Harry thought of the Dursleys. "The Muggles aren't so great either."

She smirked, eyes lighting up. "Well, I happen to like the Muggles. I was the only Slytherin who took Muggle Studies back in the day. They're fascinating."

"Why?"

"I guess, because we like to think of them as so utterly _other_, but they're not really all that different to us. They can be just as ridiculous."

"Wizards aren't ridiculous–"

"Potter, wizards still wear robes hundreds of years after the invention of pants, simply because you're all addicted to being all mysterious and impressive in your long flowing robes, when pants are clearly the more sensible and efficient option."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but closed it again. He'd been guilty of that. There was something about a sharp pair of robes that made one feel empowered, as though he could deal with anything.

"So, what about the Muggles is ridiculous?" he asked instead.

She suppressed a smile, as though this was the question she'd been waiting for. She reached into her bag and pulled out a gleaming contraption. It had a thin nozzle and a wooden handle, and the grooves in its metallic surface gleamed.

Harry sat up in alarm. "Where did you get this?"

"Filch's Office," she said casually. She pushed the revolver into his hands. "Hold it and tell me it doesn't feel ten times more satisfying that a measly little stick."

Harry held it with an appalled expression. It was heavy and unnatural in his hand, nothing like a wand that thrummed along with the magic inside him.

"So… what's ridiculous about the Muggles is that they use guns to kill each other instead of wands?"

"Not quite," she said, taking the gun from him and opening the cylinder. All the slots were empty except for one. "See, the Russian Muggles have this game where they put in one bullet only…" she spun the cylinder and fitted it back into place. "And then they…" She lifted the nozzle to her temple and pulled the trigger.

His heart skipped a beat.

"No!" Harry burst out.

The gun clicked, the cylinder rotating once. Daphne's eyes were shining. What the hell had she just done? She'd nearly killed herself! He jumped to his feet, overcome with righteous anger, spilling Daphne off him.

"What the hell would _possess_ you to – you're completely _insane_! You could have killed yourself!"

She casually backed away from him. "It's called Russian Roulette," she said easily. She gave him a Cheshire smile and cocked the nozzle against her temple again. His heart rose into his throat.

"Don't," he said, raising his hands slowly. "Please don't."

"Don't beg!" she snapped. She leapt up onto the bed. "The Destroyer of Worlds does not beg! You're too strong! Too powerful!" She gestured to her feet. "Why does the Champion of Worlds refuse to sleep in his own bed?"

"Daphne, put the gun down–"

"You don't take shit from anyone. Not from me, not from James, not from Dumbledore! You follow no one, yet you refuse to sleep in your own bed! Why?" She pointed the gun straight at him. "What's wrong with the bed, Harry?"

"Don't point that thing at me!"

"You could stop me if you wanted to!" Daphne shot back. "You proved that this afternoon. You have power. You're the Champion of Worlds! There are no rules for you – you're too powerful to follow rules. Everyone should bow to you as you pass them by!"

"Give me the fucking gun!"

"Why are you afraid of your power!?" she shouted in return, matching his volume. She jumped from the bed, staring at him, past him, into his soul. He went rigid beneath her intense stare. She pressed the tip of the revolver beneath her chin, moving closer, and closer. He willed her finger on the trigger to stay.

"Daphne, look at me," Harry said with forced calm. "Don't do this."

She smiled sadly. "You're so powerful, but you're weak. You can stop all of this easily, but you won't, because you're afraid. Your magic is a gift, but you treat it like a burden. Did you know that madness sets you free? There's madness inside your head too. I can see it tearing you apart. We can be mad together. Mad and broken. Me and you and you and me."

She was a breath away now, eyes wide and full of purpose. Harry only had eyes for her index finger poised on the trigger.

"I know your weakness, Harry," she murmured. "Your weakness is power. I am the only one who understands you."

Harry looked right at her then. "You're wrong."

She pulled the trigger. He cried out, but the gun just clicked again. He snatched it out of her hands. "Bloody hell_, what is wrong with _you?" he hissed. He fiddled with the gun, but he couldn't figure out how to open the cylinder.

"Why Harry, I didn't know you cared!"

Harry growled at the contraption. "I _care_ that you nearly splattered my walls with your _crazy Slytherin brains!_" He melted the gun between his hands, turning it to molten metal and banishing it. "You understand nothing! You are just another one of those stupid lusting girls!" He pulled back his sleeve and shook the shackle in her face. "This is not something to _lust_ over! You think you _know_ me? You think you can _fix_ me? I'm not your cliched little charity project! How about you go and fix yourself first, huh? You're just like my counterpart and his friends. You're all _children_!"

Harry glared at her, and for once she didn't give him some devilish smile, or waggle her eyebrows, or tilt her head to the side. She snatched her bag and stormed from the room.


	13. The Three Puppeteers

**Chapter 12: The Three Puppeteers**

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Daphne's rant wouldn't leave him alone. It hung in the air around him. It crept into his thoughts. He couldn't help but play the scenario over and over, imagining different ways he could have handled it, different things he could have said. He'd be struck with the terrible fear that everything she'd said had been right, only to later convince himself that she had been nothing but wrong.

He worried that he may have pushed her too far away. As insane as she was, Voldemort had named her mother as a possible horcrux-owner, which meant Hufflepuff's Cup may currently be in her possession. He didn't doubt she'd be back, however. All he had to do was wait. But that didn't keep her from intruding on his thoughts, making it incredibly difficult to focus.

He closed his eyes, and tried to think of the beast he'd seen in his vision. He wanted to transform. He wanted to change into something big, and dark, and monstrous… but his beastly Animagus form made him afraid, and suddenly Daphne was accusing him of being afraid of his own power again.

He threw up his hands. "I can't do this."

"You're thinking too hard," Sirius said.

"It should just happen naturally, but you need to keep your focus," said James.

He and Sirius sat on top of two desks, watching him. Wormtail stood fidgeting to the side, at Sirius and James' insistence. Harry did his best to ignore him, but his presence set him on edge.

"How am I supposed to focus without thinking about it?"

"Walk us through your thought process," James suggested.

"I'm thinking about turning into some big, black, scaly beast."

"I think I see your problem. You don't like the form you think you're going to turn into, and it's stopping you from transforming. We've encountered this problem before," said Sirius, and the two of them turned pointedly to Wormtail.

"I don't need _his_ help!" Harry spat.

"Just hear him out," James said. "He went through the same thing you're going through right now."

Harry shook his head in disgust, but said nothing. He couldn't justify his hatred for Wormtail, so his objections were futile.

Wormtail said hesitantly, "Well, I was insecure about my form when I first realised that I was a rat. I couldn't help thinking that I must be a pretty terrible person deep down to have an Animagus like that." Harry scoffed. James shot him a warning look. "But Sirius and James and Remus helped me to research it, and it turns out that rats are naturally inventive and auspicious – like me. It helped me to accept my form, and you need to accept who you are, or you'll never be able to transform."

Daphne's words once again rose to the back of his mind. _Why are you afraid of your own power?_ He was certainly afraid of this beast inside him.

"Well, I guess I'm never transforming, am I?"

"Stop being such a pessimist! You know you're a real downer to be around, right?" Sirius grumbled.

"I prefer to think of myself as an optimist who had his half-full glass smashed over his head," Harry muttered. "It's not like you could get Remus to transform either. He never accepted that _who he was_, was a werewolf."

James sighed. "That's just it, Harry. Remus is a werewolf. A monster."

_Just like you,_ Hermione murmured.

"And what if I'm something worse?"

James frowned. "Look, we like to call Remus a sheep in wolf's clothing."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning he's got the teeth but no bite. He may be monstrous, but he's also the kindest person I've ever met. So you may perceive your form as something evil, but… that doesn't mean you're evil," James said, though he didn't seem to have much confidence in what he was saying.

"Maybe we should try and learn more about your form. It might ease your anxieties," Sirius said. "What's your Patronus? That could help."

"It won't," Harry said. He certainly hadn't hallucinated a stag. "My Patronus is different."

"Really?" James asked, intrigued. "Can we see?"

"No."

He could only imagine how James would interpret his Prongs Patronus.

Wormtail suggested, "Why don't you drink the potion again and see if you can find out–"

"No!" Harry snarled at him.

He jumped in surprise, then narrowed his eyes. "Why do you hate me so much? What did I _do_?"

The beast in his gut screamed at him to let loose, to rip into Wormtail and tear him to shreds with every miserable thing he had done. Harry shook his head, staring at the floor.

"Am I a Death Eater?"

Harry's eyes snapped up to meet his. He stared hard at Wormtail, who held his gaze with a fearful, defeated expression, as though he already knew, as though he didn't truly want to know.

"Yeah, you're a Death Eater," Harry said quietly, venomously. Horror clouded Wormtail's face. "So stay out of my way before I enact a vengeance only your counterpart deserves."

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

"I am getting impatient, Potter," the vision of Lord Voldemort said, glaring at Harry through the mirror. Harry squinted back at the Dark Lord through the blinding pain in his scar. "How many horcruxes have you destroyed?"

"Three," Harry said, and rushed to continue at Voldemort's furious expression. "I've met with the Voldemort of this universe. He is close to trusting me, then I can get close to the Malfoys – and to Nagini – and I'll find out where the last horcrux is–"

"The Dark Lord does not reveal the location of his most prized possessions to teenaged wizards!" Voldemort snarled. "There is only one location my counterpart would find worthy of his seventh and final horcrux. It will be hidden in Azkaban."

"_Azkaban_?" Harry echoed incredulously, swaying deliriously in the throes of the vision.

"That is where I had originally planned to hide my seventh horcrux before certain… _complications_ arose."

Harry stared groggily at Voldemort's snake-like form, his gleaming red eyes, the sickly pallor of his green skin, stretched over a skeletal form.

"_Seven_," he breathed quietly. "_How_? I have one, and I can barely _breathe_ knowing it's an entire universe away. How can you have _seven? How could you do that to yourself?"_

Voldemort sneered down at him. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Harry. Upon the creation of my first horcrux, I did experience the craving you feel – that overwhelming desire to be whole again. I even considered not making any more horcruxes, but I was strong, and I pushed onward. I created the others, and with each horcrux, the craving lessened, and now I am unaffected." His red eyes flashed. "Would you like another few horcruxes, Harry? To ease your suffering?"

Harry tensed. It wasn't the thought of having seven horcruxes that he hated most. What made his skin crawl was the knowledge that if Voldemort so chose, he'd would be powerless to stop him.

Voldemort smiled in the wake of Harry's tortured silence. "Of course not. I have made you strong in terms of power, but you are weak in other ways. There's still too much of a beating heart inside that chest. A heart that might even have considered the possibility of… remaining. Here, with your precious mentor and your parents…"

Voldemort reached into his robes and pulled out Harry's lion pendant. The emerald snake wrapped around the lion's body glinted, winking in the darkness. He let it swing from his hand, and Harry's eyes followed it back and forth.

"You may be an entire universe away, but I'm sure you'd still feel it if I drove a basilisk fang through this thing. You belong by my side, and you will not rest until you are. Do not let your heart distract you from your purpose."

Harry swallowed hard, the beast roaring its fury in his chest. "I won't," he said firmly.

"Remember what is at stake, Potter. I'm giving you until Christmas, or this little lion can say goodbye."

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

The following night, Harry stood before an entirely different Voldemort. There was very little difference between the two. One had simply never thought to enslave the Wizarding World's children. Harry held out the Elder Wand and saw the greed light up this alternate Dark Lord's gleaming eyes. He took the wand from Harry and held it up to the light, marvelling at it from every angle.

"Well done, Champion of Worlds," he murmured.

He suddenly reached out, gripped Harry by the wrist, and pulled him close, making him stumble. He pulled back Harry's sleeve to reveal the shackle and pressed his wand to Harry's forearm. A stinging pain blossomed from Voldemort's wand, and Harry watched in horror as the Dark Mark emblazoned itself across his skin.

"You are _mine_, Champion of Worlds," Voldemort hissed. "I am inducting you into my ranks because you _will_ prove useful – but make no mistake. I do not trust you. Do not take me for a fool. You are dangerous, and you have yet to truly prove your allegiances. If you want to be free of that meddling fool, you will do as I say."

He let go, and Harry stumbled back, staring down at the tattoo. This Voldemort's Dark Mark was on one forearm, while his Voldemort's runes were on the other. They were like the strings on a puppet. Two sets of strings, two puppeteers yanking him in opposite directions.

"Now go back to Dumbledore," Voldemort said. "Hogwarts' day of reckoning is coming, and your position inside the school will prove useful. Play the part of Dumbledore's little hero. Find his weakness. Keep searching for the other two hallows. I expect you to find them. You will not let me down."

"Yes, My Lord," Harry said.

"And who knows," Voldemort said with a smirk. "Perhaps one day I'll even let you kill the old fool."

The Dark Lord disapparated with a sudden and dramatic flourish, leaving Harry alone in the Shrieking Shack, feeling cold and hollow and monstrous. He scowled at the Dark Mark. The skull's black eye sockets glared back at him.

_Monster. Monster. Monster._

He went straight to Dumbledore after returning to Hogwarts, despite Dumbledore being the last person Harry wanted to deal with right now. Dumbledore was working busily at his desk, but set down his quill at Harry's entrance, surprise written all over his face. The Order had not been expecting him to return.

He hadn't, either, and for that he was relieved. He'd been prepared for Voldemort to induct him into his ranks, and to have to leave Hogwarts behind to play the part of a loyal Death Eater, but that didn't mean he'd wanted to.

"He doesn't trust me," Harry said from the doorway. "But he's ready to use me to achieve his ends, which is a start, I guess. He still expects me to find the other two hallows while working as a double agent to you."

Dumbledore stroked his silvery beard and leant back thoughtfully. "How curious it is; the compulsion for power. He has seven horcruxes and the rule over the entire Wizarding World of Great Britain, yet still he is not satisfied."

"Do you know where I could find these other two hallows?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "You are not aware of whom may be in possession of the cloak?"

"Not a clue. Why?"

Dumbledore smiled. "It is irrelevant, in any matter. I do not believe it would be wise to follow through with–"

"I need him to trust me!" Harry interrupted, knowing what Dumbledore was about to say. "I have to show him I'm _reliable_, and _capable_! Giving him these hallows will get me one step closer to that."

"I understand, but we are having enough trouble defeating Voldemort with his infernal horcruxes. Would it really be prudent to give him the title of Master of Death on top of that? No one knows the powers one gains upon becoming Master of Death. It could simply be a title, or it could be disastrous."

"So you want me to fail again."

"_You_ want you to fail again, Harry, if you ever want to return to your universe. You will have to find another way to get into the Dark Lord's good favour."

Three. There were three sets of strings. Two Dark Lords after world domination and one old wizard after the Greater Good. Three puppeteers yanking and pulling. He was beginning to forget which ones were real.

"Besides, I suspect it is the Dark Lord's intention to have you fail at this task."

"What? Why?" Harry asked, affronted.

"Because he has sent you searching for something he already has. The Resurrection Stone is an heirloom of the Gaunt Family – Voldemort's ancestors. He has hidden the Stone himself, and thus it is his intention for you to never find it."

Why? Why would Voldemort send him on some mad goose chase he was destined to fail? Voldemort didn't need Harry, or his supposed power as the Champion of Worlds. The Dark Lord was toying with him. And he was going to have to play along.

• − ○ ◊ AU Harry ◊ ○ − •

"The Master of Death is the one who has in their possession all three of the legendary Deathly Hallows: the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Cloak of Invisibility. While it is widely assumed that the title grants the possessor immortality, the true consequences of becoming the Master of Death are unknown," Hermione recited aloud.

She snapped the book shut, making Harry and Ron jump. She set it on the desk beside her with a resounding thump, and placed a copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard on top.

"In this entire library, there is exactly one paragraph and a fairy tale on the subject of the Master of Death and the Deathly Hallows," Hermione said, then gave Harry a pained look. "Is it _really_ so important that you become Master of Death?"

"Of course!" Harry held up the Cloak of Invisibility. "I've already got one! We _know_ they exist, so we just have to find the other two."

"And how do you suppose we do that?" said Ron.

"I don't know," Harry said. "Hermione, I was kind of hoping you would do your thing and discover some important hidden detail that would spark some ludicrous, outlandish plan and _boom_ – I'm the Master of Death!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I think we might be out of our lead in this regard, Harry."

"Didn't your alternate self say he was hunting Deathly Hallows?" Ron asked. "Why don't we just wait for him to find them and then steal them! He can't be trusted with them anyway–"

"_Ahem_."

The three of them jumped and turned to find Albus Dumbledore looming over them with a kindly smile and a knowing glint in his crinkled eyes.

"My apologies for interrupting, children, but I could not help but overhear your… rather intriguing conversation. Mr. Potter, could I borrow you for a moment, perhaps?"

Harry gulped and followed Professor Dumbledore out of the library. He suspected he was about to get some big long lecture about how he shouldn't worry about this kind of stuff and leave it to the adults, never mind that he _was_ technically an adult at seventeen.

He was so tired of no one taking him seriously. He decided before Professor Dumbledore had even opened his mouth that it didn't matter what the wizard had to say, he would not give up his search for the hallows before it had even begun.

Professor Dumbledore lead him back to his office and took a seat behind his desk. Harry sat opposite him and waited while Professor Dumbledore searched and rummaged busily about in the drawers behind his desk before pulling out a small piece of folded cloth. He set it on the desk between them and unfolded it reverently to reveal a small black stone. Etched into its surface was a symbol Harry recognised immediately. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows.

"The Resurrection Stone," Harry breathed.

"Yes," Professor Dumbledore said while gazing at the stone, just as transfixed by it as Harry was. "I have just now decided to give it to you."

Harry's head snapped up. "What?"

Professor Dumbledore smiled. "I trust you understand what this stone is capable of. It can bring back the dead… but they are mere shades of their original self, suffering in a world they no longer belong within. The Stone of Resurrection is a temptation to all those who have experienced loss." A dark change came over Professor Dumbledore, but it evaporated as quickly as it came. "But not you! You have been fortunate. You will not be tempted, which makes you the perfect recipient to safeguard this artefact. Is that so?"

Harry nodded in earnest disbelief. He could not think of anyone he would want to bring back, bar resurrecting Merlin himself. Was Dumbledore really just going to hand it over?

Professor Dumbledore reached into the drawer again and this time pulled out a Golden Snitch. He fiddled with it so that a latch opened, revealing the snitch's hollow core. He placed the Stone inside it. Harry reverently took the snitch from him.

"I must caution you too keep the Stone out of the hands of your friends, especially your counterpart," Professor Dumbledore said. "I fear the temptation would be strong in him."

Harry nodded distractedly. He couldn't believe his luck. This was surely the hand of destiny at work. "How did you get this?" he asked.

"I have lived a long life," Professor Dumbledore said with a laugh. "One tends to come across some interesting artefacts in a lifetime. I once had the Elder Wand, too."

Now Harry was sure Professor Dumbledore was fooling with him. "You _what?"_ he spluttered. "Where is it? How do I get it?"

Professor Dumbledore held up a hand. "Now, now, there'll be none of that. I had your alternate self give it to Voldemort to prove his loyalty."

Everything Professor Dumbledore said seemed to become more and more ludicrous. He could have been Master of Death all this time! Professor Dumbledore had both the stone and the wand! What was wrong with him?

"Why would you give it to Voldemort of all people?" he exploded. "Does he not have enough power already?"

"You do not understand the law of the Hallows yet, and neither does Voldemort. He has spent years tearing his soul to shreds because he cannot accept death. It is his ultimate fear. However, you cannot become the Master of Death and fear it at the same time. The true Master does not seek to run away from Death. He accepts that he must die, and understands that there are far, far worse things than dying."

"So Voldemort won't be able to become the Master of Death, even if he does get the other two Hallows, because he won't accept death?"

"Precisely," Professor Dumbledore said. "It is also why I believe that you have the capacity to become a true Master of Death, though it will not be as simple as uniting the Deathly Hallows."

"But… but how can I become the Master of Death if you gave the Elder Wand to Voldemort?" Harry asked. He felt as though Professor Dumbledore had just made a game of dangling this brilliant thing in front of him only to rip it away.

"The universe tends to have a way of sorting itself out," Professor Dumbledore said cryptically. "If you are truly meant to be the Master of Death, and that is truly what you are meant to be, then the opportunity will present itself to you when you are ready."


	14. Snake Eyes

**Chapter 13: Snake Eyes**

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

A week before Christmas, the Great Hall was alight with Christmas tunes, flashing lights, and merry dancers. The raised platform James had used for his duelling session had been repurposed into a stage for a small orchestra who were currently in the middle of a merry ditty about two elves caught under the mistletoe for their audience of revellers.

Harry had resolved to spend the duration of the Christmas Ball in his room, but something had compelled him to go down and watch, and now he was regretting it. Watching his alternate friends and family dance while he lurked in the side entrance just filled him with an ugly kind of envy.

His counterpart was dancing along with Ginny, both grinning, before Lily came up and stole her son for a dance, whereupon Ginny found Ron slouched in the corner, who groaned and mumbled but nevertheless got to his feet to dance with his sister.

Daphne sidled up beside him and noticed his brooding expression. "Isn't it _hateful!_" she said mockingly, nudging him with her elbow. "Such outrageous displays of mirth! How dare they!"

She wore an emerald dress that flowed down her form and behind her like a river. Her hair was done up in a fashionably messy bun, making her neck look longer. Harry couldn't keep himself from staring.

She noticed his stare and posed with a smirk. "I'm the only Slytherin in this entire school. I might as well live up to it," she said, flourishing the green dress. "Now come and dance."

She seized his hand and pulled him along, but Harry dug in his heels. "Absolutely not."

"Oh, come on, stop taking yourself so seriously!" she said with a pout. "I think it would do you a lot of good to be seen doing something foolish."

"I don't know how to dance, but more importantly, I don't _want_ to dance."

She rolled her eyes. "Just this once, could you stop living inside your head?" she said with an exasperated tone, but nevertheless stopped tugging and tried to lead him the other way.

Harry stopped her again. "No guns," he said seriously.

She rolled her eyes with a smile. "I tampered with the gun, you moron. It never would have gone off. You think I would be willing to die such a basic, stupid, unremarkable death?"

Harry didn't know if he believed her, but relented and let her lead him through the school, never letting go of his hand, down into the Dungeons. She veered down a narrow corridor and stopped suddenly, turning to a specific part of the wall that seemed no different to any other part of the wall to Harry. She made a series of complicated hand gestures. The stones came to life and magically shifted, cracked, and crumbled in on themselves with a low rumble to reveal a heavy metal door.

She placed a hand against it, and it swung open to reveal a vault reminiscent of those in Gringotts. It had a low ceiling, but stretched back seemingly for miles, and it was piled high with gold, galleons, diamonds, and other expensive-looking heirlooms. Along one wall was an armoury, with an arsenal of curious and menacing contraptions.

"Welcome to Greengrass Vault!" Daphne said with a proud flourish.

Harry followed her into the vault, gaping. "Why do you… how do you…"

"Everyone in Hogwarts has their own vault, what with Gringotts being under Voldemort's thumb," Daphne explained. "My parents left me their entire inheritance."

Harry moved to the wall of weapons. They looked medieval, with maces and bows and the like mounted to the wall like trophies. There was also smaller relics, strangely contorted wands, staffs, and little stones with runes carved into them.

"What are all these?"

"My father's weapons collection, taken from magical communities all over the world," Daphne said. "Beheading maces, soul bonds, ward deactivators, weather manipulators, you name it. I consider keeping these devices out of the hands of Death Eaters my greatest achievement."

"Does Dumbledore know about all this stuff?" Harry asked. Daphne just gave a noncommittal shrug. Harry gazed around at the literal mounds of glittering gold. "What does one even _do_ with this much wealth?"

Daphne laughed. She faced her back to one of the mounds of gold, spread her arms out wide and gave a little jump backwards, landing square in the centre of the pile. Gold sprayed up and rained back down around her with a metallic crash.

"You make a compelling argument," said Harry. He fell beside her, gold cascading around them. "Why did you bring me here?"

She picked up one of the galleons and tucked it into his shirt. "I thought you might be mad at me after that stunt I pulled with the gun. I figured I'd buy your forgiveness."

"You think my forgiveness is worth one galleon?"

"I think it's worth an entire inheritance," she murmured. She leaned in and their lips touched for the briefest instant before she pulled away and with wide eyes asked, "So, do you forgive me?"

"I think I have to."

The glint in her eyes returned, and she smiled triumphantly. "Then you're a fool, Harry Potter," she breathed, leaning closer. "I'm going to break your heart."

Harry inclined his face close to hers. "Already broken."

Then they were kissing again. "Tell me you love me," she said between breaths with a hungry kind of ferocity. "You don't have to mean it."

Harry wanted to give her a dubious look, but her mouth was against his again, tongue in mouth, hands curled through hair, breath coming in gasps.

"I love you?" Harry said awkwardly. Then he laughed. It was fun to say. "I love you."

They were such heavy, impactful words, filled with meaning and passion and emotion, and he'd turned it into a throwaway phrase. He wasn't even sure if he was capable of love.

He wanted to pull away, but found himself pulling her closer. That was the strange thing about this already strange hybrid relationship. He found himself pushing her away in one instance and pulling her closer in the next. It was a contradictory compulsion inside him. To never be let go of. To always be let go.

She pulled away from him suddenly, no longer smiling, staring at him with that heavy, searching gaze. "Why do you let me do all this?" she asked.

_Because she's almost as corrupt as you,_ Hermione whispered, but he pushed the thought down. Daphne wasn't corrupt.

"Because no one ordered me to," he said honestly.

"That's pretty low bar, don't you think?"

"Not to me."

She sighed, still giving him that look as though she was trying to figure out exactly what he was thinking just by his eyes. "Everyone in this school thinks I'm dark or crazy. They all seem to be under this impression that I've got this deep dark secret past that will inevitably be my ruination." She tilted her head. "Aren't you curious what it is?"

Harry gave an amused huff. "I don't exactly have the high ground on morally ambiguous backstories."

She gave him a rueful smile. "No… I don't think you've ever thought to ask. Let's face it, Harry, you're pretty self-centred. I'm just your little distraction."

"You're not–"

"It's fine," she interrupted, cupping her hand along his jaw. "The feeling is mutual. This isn't a love story."

Harry frowned at her. "Okay, then. Tell me. What's your story? What's the big secret?"

"There is none," she said simply. "My parents died. Voldemort offered me a position as a Death Eater, but I couldn't accept. I couldn't just be another pawn following a leader who doesn't believe in his own ideology. I didn't know what I wanted, but I knew I wanted to carve a path of my own, to create my own future." She averted her gaze and studied her fingernails.

"Voldemort didn't like that, obviously, so I needed protection. I bribed my way into Hogwarts with my father's stunning weapon's collection, and now I can't leave, otherwise the Order will think I've run to Voldemort to expose all their little secrets… so here I am. I wanted to carve a path of my own, and I ended up stuck in this decaying castle."

She paused, waiting for him to say something. Harry didn't know what to say. It hardly explained anything. He'd always assumed that because she was here, in Hogwarts, meant she believed in their cause. What did she believe? Who was she loyal to? It seemed as though she wasn't affiliated with anyone.

"If a war broke out between Voldemort and the Order, who would you fight for?" Harry asked.

"No one," she said. "I'd fight for myself."

Harry gave her an unsettled look. He'd always been on one side or another. He'd always had obligations, duties, orders. It seemed so selfish, to be concerned only with yourself, but Daphne didn't owe anything to anyone.

She clambered off the mound of gold. "Do you really not know how to dance?"

"I can do the Box Step. That's about it."

She rolled her eyes and offered him a hand. "Come on, I'll show you how to waltz."

She helped him up, and a short while later they could be seen waltzing around the vault to an imaginary beat. It required a certain level of rhythm Harry didn't have, but Daphne pulled him along regardless, twisting and twirling from his hand.

"My father loved to dance," she said, face flushed. "But mother had two left feet, so I became his dancing partner instead."

Harry wondered absently if James and Lily liked to dance. He thought of Ron, and Neville, and all the other soldiers stuck back in his universe. The last time they would have danced would have been the Yule Ball. He stopped short, nearly causing Daphne to lose her footing.

"What's wrong?" she asked, standing close enough to feel his thumping heart. "I'm sorry – I shouldn't have mentioned my parents."

"No, it's okay," he said, but he'd just ruined his own good mood. What right did he have to allow himself to dance, to have some shred of happiness, while they were back there?

"I want you to hit me as hard as you can," he said suddenly. He tried to grin, as though it was just for fun.

She raised her eyebrows. "I'm not going to do that."

"What, after all that shit you pulled with the gun? You said we could be mad and broken together, so hit me."

She averted her gaze and pulled away from him. "I was trying to help, okay? Everything I said was true, and you know it. You let me do all this because you're so used to taking orders that you can't stop. It took me threatening to blow my brains out for you to finally take control of the situation."

"Just stop it, Daphne!" Harry said, turning away from her in annoyance. "You're not helping. Taking orders is what I was bloody born for…" he trailed off, eyes latching onto a small trinket sitting on its own little dais over Daphne's shoulder.

"But it doesn't have to be that way!" Daphne said earnestly. "You could be a leader… Harry?"

He'd gone still. Hufflepuff's Cup was just sitting there, taunting him. Goosebumps crawled across his skin. He never imagined that he would just happen across it. He supposed in the Greengrass Vault was the most logical place for it to be hidden, but he'd been too distracted by Daphne to think of it.

Daphne followed his desirous gaze. "That's Hufflepuff's Cup," she said. "Mother was obsessed with it. She demanded that it was cleaned and polished every day. She wasn't even in Hufflepuff!"

Harry picked it up. He could feel Voldemort's soul residing inside it. This was it. He turned to Daphne. How did he explain this? Would she understand? She held allegiances to no one. He stepped closer to her, ran his hand into her hair and kissed her, hoping it would distract her while he slipped the cup into his pocket.

"Come on," Harry said, pulling away and carefully facing Daphne away from where the cup should have been sitting. "Why don't we go upstairs and dance?"

She raised her eyebrows incredulously. "Really?"

Harry smirked. "You said you wanted to make the whole school jealous, didn't you? I can't see who'd be jealous of us from down here."

She gave him an odd look, but then returned his smirk with earnest and led the way out of the vault. At the entrance, Harry gave a surprised shout as he was magically lurched into the air. The cup clattered to the floor, and Harry found himself hanging upside down. Daphne turned, took a moment to digest the scene before her, and laughed.

"Harry! You really are a Little Thief!" she exclaimed.

Taking her time, she retrieved the cup and made a point of carefully studying its intricacies while Harry hung there in suspension.

"Did you _really_ think I wouldn't ward the vault against petty theft?" she asked.

"Can you let me down, please?"

"How about you tell me why you wanted a dusty old cup first?" she said, wagging it in his face.

"I liked it," Harry said flatly.

"Hm…" Daphne said, eyeing him. She seized his outer robes so they came off with one smooth pull. She let them drop to the floor. "What do you say every time you lie to me, I remove a stitch of clothing?"

"I'd say you're insane."

She tutted and grabbed a hold of his tie, pulling it free. "Not a quick learner, are you?"

Harry huffed. "I'll tell you, but you have to promise to believe me when I tell the truth."

"I promise no such thing."

"The cup's a horcrux. It's a shard of Voldemort's soul. He gave it to your mother to safeguard. I was going to steal it and destroy the soul inside it, then give it back."

Daphne turned her attention to the cup sceptically. "How does one destroy a piece of someone's soul?"

"One stabs it with a basilisk fang."

"And you've got one of those just conveniently lying about?"

"I've got an entire basilisk," Harry said, but backtracked at the sight of Daphne's bulging eyes. "I'm kidding. There's a fang in my room."

"Huh. Okay, I'll go and get the fang while you stay here with all the blood rushing to your–"

Harry reached up, focused on the magic encompassing his legs, and cancelled the curse. He fell awkwardly to the floor and got to his feet.

"You could get that easily?"

"Of course," Harry said, doing his tie and shrugging on his robes. "You think a simple Snaring Curse is going to stop the Destroyer of Worlds?"

"Then why did you–"

"Fun."

"Dear Merlin. I didn't think you were capable."

"Do you want to see a horcrux destroyed or not?"

Daphne resealed the vault and while they walked asked, "So if you have a horcrux, the only way you can die is if it's destroyed… does that mean the Killing Curse has no affect?"

"No, you get torn from your body, but you're still technically alive."

"So… what? You're a ghost?"

"No, you're… I don't really know. You're just a shard of soul floating around, I guess," Harry said, frowning.

"Gross. Do you still age in your current body? Because if you lived forever, wouldn't your body continue to age and decay until you're just… I don't know… a sentient pile of dust?"

"Fuck. I hope not," Harry muttered with a shiver. "I guess you would have to find yourself a new host body ever couple of centuries."

In his room, he fished out the basilisk fang from where he kept it in the desk and tried to take the cup from Daphne, but she held it out of his reach. "I want to do it," she said, eyes glinting.

"No, it has to be me," Harry said, snatching it from her. "The summoning ritual that brought me here said I couldn't return until I destroyed Voldemort. If someone else does it, I could be trapped here. It has to be me."

He set the cup on the ground and raised the fang.

"Wait," Daphne said suddenly, cringing. "It's not going to start screaming or bleeding or something, is it?"

Harry glanced down at the cup. "It might. Why?"

"I don't do well around blood and guts and stuff," she said awkwardly.

"_You_?"

She scowled, eyes flashing. "Just stab the bloody thing."

Harry stabbed it. It screamed and hissed, vibrating and spinning beneath the fang. It was almost human the way it hissed and sizzled in pain. Then it went still.

"Neat," Daphne said with distaste. "Now come on, let's go down to the Christmas Ball!"

Harry pulled a face. "I'm not going down there."

"You said you would dance!"

"I just said that so you wouldn't notice that I'd stolen the cup."

She huffed in annoyance and was about to retort when Harry gave a surprised gasp. His forearm suddenly seared hot. It wasn't the runes. It was his Dark Mark. He growled in frustration.

"What's wrong?" Daphne asked.

Harry lifted his sleeve to expose the Dark Mark. "He couldn't resist himself," he muttered. "He had to lay claim to me, just like everyone else."

She ran her hand over the tattoo. "This doesn't have to define who you are, Harry."

She tried to look him in the eye, but he couldn't. He pulled his sleeve down. "I have to go," he muttered, and escaped from the room and her gaze. By the Great Hall, a throng of revellers had spilled out of the Great Hall Harry kept his gaze down as he pushed through, but Remus noticed with him.

"Alternate Harry! Where are you off to with such purpose?" Remus called, lifting a glass of butterbeer to him.

Harry gave him a sardonic salute. "My strings are being yanked."

Remus gave him an odd look, but Harry offered no explanation and hurried past. At the Shrieking Shack, Voldemort was not there waiting for him. Lucius Malfoy was.

"You have been invited to a meeting with the Inner Circle," Malfoy said.

He held out his arm, and Harry wordlessly seized it. They apparated into a large dining room at the foot of a long mahogany table. Voldemort sat at the far end, flanked on either side by two rows of Death Eaters. He recognised most of them from his own universe, including Snape and alongside him, Draco Malfoy. Lucius left Harry to stand at the foot of the table and took a seat beside his son, careful not to disturb Nagini, snoozing on the table.

"Ah, my dear friends, our guest of honour has arrived," Voldemort said, gesturing to Harry with one friend. "I would like to introduce you to one of my latest recruitments. They call him the Champion of Worlds. He was summoned from another world by those Phoenix Fools to destroy me, but even he can see that Dumbledore's little band of renegades are a lost cause. In his universe, he is one of my loyal lieutenants, even going so far as to call himself _more_ than a Death Eater."

Several of the Death Eaters scoffed derisively.

"Rest assured, while I have plans for him, he has yet to prove himself in our world," Voldemort continued. "He is just a child trapped by Dumbledore, to whom I have chosen to extend my charity… do you have a Hallow for me, Champion of Worlds?"

Harry braced himself. "No, My Lord."

Voldemort did not even bother to look disappointed. He did not expect Harry to find the Hallows, just to come at Voldemort's beckon, and dance to the pull of Voldemort's strings. Voldemort lifted his wand, and the pain of white-hot knives tore through him. He locked his jaw and gritted his teeth against the all-consuming agony, but the scream came anyway. He stood the moment the curse fell away, trying to regain his composure as quickly as he could.

"That is a shame, Champion of Worlds, but I did bring you here to introduce you to my most loyal followers. You'll be working closely with them when my plans come to fruition," said Voldemort. He stood and addressed his Death Eaters. "I will conclude our meeting here, Gentlemen. We can hardly discuss sensitive information with my Summoned Downfall standing by! You are dismissed, and of course, my gratitude goes to the Zabini's for hosting our meeting tonight."

Voldemort spread his arms out wide, gazing at his gathering with a proud smile, before disapparating in a cloud of smoke. Most of the Death Eaters did the same while others conversed quietly with one another in small groups. None of them paid Harry any attention except for Draco

"What makes you think you're _more_ than a Death Eater?" Draco demanded, shouldering past his father to confront Harry

Harry bit down a retort. The Malfoy's had the Diary. He needed to establish some kind of connection, but from the look on Draco's face, their relationship was set to be as divisive as the one in his universe. He swallowed hard and glanced back at Voldemort's vacant seat. "It's not like it matters anymore," he muttered.

"Exactly! You think you can just swoop in and steal a place by the Dark Lord's side? You'll have to prove yourself to Voldemort and to us."

Harry smiled and shrugged. "I'm sure I'll find a way. I'll just have to find the other two Hallows. Or I'll burn Hogwarts to the ground. How do you think the Dark Lord would feel if I presented him with Dumbledore's head on a platter?"

Draco blinked, then smirked. "You are not at all like your alternate self."

"You know my counterpart?" Harry asked with raised eyebrows.

"Only from before the Reformation of Hogwarts. Annoying, smug little twat."

"Ugh, I can't believe he's me," said Harry. "The kid is obsessed with becoming this grand hero, but he doesn't realise how much of an annoying twerp he is. But I'll give him some credit. He's the only wizard in Hogwarts with half a brain enough to realise that I'm not the shining light of heroism they think I am."

Draco nodded with an amused smile. "Your universe must be a hell of a place for a Potter to be a Death Eater."

"_More_ than a Death Eater," Harry corrected. "Maybe some time I'll tell you all about it."

"Why don't you come downstairs and tell all of us?"

"Draco…" Lucius began warningly, placing a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"Father, it's fine. We know how to keep our mouths shut," Draco said.

"If it makes you feel any better, Draco and I are good friends in my universe," Harry said, inwardly cringing at Lucius' narrowed eyes, fearing he had pushed that lie a little too far. "Yeah, I call him Weasel. He calls me, erm, Scarface."

Draco scoffed. "I _definitely_ need to hear about this."

He stepped past his father and quickly guided Harry out of the room and down a set of stairs into a basement, where Crabbe, Boil, Zabini, and Pansy were sitting around a table littered with playing cards and bottles of Firewhiskey. They glanced up, four sets of Slytherin eyes fell on Harry, and he suddenly felt very much like a lion in a snake's den.


	15. I'm Afraid I'm Falling Apart

**Chapter 14: I'm Afraid I'm Falling Apart**

"Draco, why is Potter in my house?" Zabini demanded.

"Because he's the Champion of Worlds and Voldemort's latest recruitment. We will call him Scarface… why do we call you Scarface?" Malfoy asked. Harry lifted the hair of his forehead by way of explanation. Malfoy raised his eyebrows at the scar. "Neat. Why do you call me Weasel?"

Harry laughed, slapped him on the shoulder, and stepped past him. "If you value your dignity, you won't want to know."

He slouched into a seat at the table and did his best to pretend that being square in the centre of Pansy's glare was the most comfortable place in the world.

"So why does Malfoy get a seat at the Big Boy table while you lot are down here?" he asked boldly.

The Slytherins' expressions immediately soured while Malfoy stood a little taller. "Because I've proven myself to the Dark Lord. Unlike you."

Pansy snickered at Harry. "Was that you we heard screaming and carrying on up there?"

"It sure was," Malfoy said with a smirk, sitting beside Harry.

"Then you could probably go for one of these," Zabini said, setting a bottle of Firewhiskey in front of Harry. He accepted it and took a sip.

"So what have we been discussing at the kiddie table? Are we planning our second attempt to overthrow the teddy bears? Infiltrate the garden gnome army? Assassinate the ruthless dictator Mister Fuzzy?"

Pansy downed the rest of her Firewhiskey. "We were just playing Spin the Bottle," she said, and set the bottle spinning on the table until the nozzle fell squarely at Harry. She beamed and tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Alright, Champion of Worlds… summoned specifically to kill Lord Voldemort from an alternate universe… have you ever actually killed anyone?"

Harry's first impulse was to lie, but for once his morally ambiguous backstory could actually be helpful. "Of course."

"Seriously?" spluttered Zabini.

"Who was it?" asked Crabbe. "We need names."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "One question per round," he said, and quickly set the bottle spinning again. He did not miss Pansy's subtle flick of the wrist that caused the bottle to point directly at him again.

"Ooh, bad luck, Potter," Pansy said with false sympathy. "Give us the name of someone you've killed."

Harry stared at her and suddenly wondered what the hell he was doing here. Playing Spin the Bottle with a bunch of Slytherins in the basement of Zabini Manor was getting him no closer to the Diary.

He sighed, took a burning swig of Firewhiskey and said, "Cornelius Fudge."

"The old Minister of Magic?"

"Yep," Harry said, and quickly spun the bottle to avoid further questions, only to have it land on him again, thanks to Pansy. He glared at her. "Parkinson–"

"Would you rather spend five hours under the Cruciatus Curse… or become Blaise's sex slave?" she interrupted, waggling her eyebrows.

The disgust must have been clear on his face, because the Slytherins burst into alcohol-fuelled sniggers.

"Oh, come on, Potter! I'm hot!" Zabini said, posing and thrusting provocatively.

"I'll take the Crucio, thanks," Harry said tightly.

"Would you ever!" Pansy said. She threw back her head and jerked her body, making pitiful screaming noises in an obvious mockery of Harry under Voldemort's Crucio.

She reminded him of Daphne, but in all the worst possible ways. He knew she was just mocking, but watching her, it felt like a taunt. The beast in his gut growled.

"That's a terrible impression," Harry said quietly. "Here, let me show you."

Then she cried out for real. The Crucio barely lasted a second, but it left her breathless and wide-eyed. She glared at Harry and he returned it with a grin wide enough to show his teeth. It was remarkable how easy it was to be monstrous.

The game wore on, with Harry getting back at Pansy by ensuring the bottle never landed on her, despite how clearly desperate she was to answer some juicy question. The pile of empty bottles grew, and the questions grew more ludicrous, with Boil admitting he'd had a crush on Madam Hooch and Zabini revealing that he would 'fuck' Pansy, 'marry' Draco, and 'kill' Harry.

Harry spun the bottle after revealing that no, he had never participated in an orgy, and the bottle landed on Malfoy, whereupon Harry suddenly decided that he might as well make one last-ditch attempt to get something out of this waste of a night.

"What is your family's most prized possession?" he tried.

Malfoy surveyed him with glassy eyes for a moment before lurching to his feet, clutching a nearly empty bottle of Firewhiskey. He walked off and beckoned for Harry to follow.

"Hey, we're not playing Seven Minutes in Heaven!" Pansy called after him.

Harry jumped up and Malfoy led him back up the stairs into a drawing room, where the two of them used the fireplace to Floo into Malfoy Manor. They arrived in a library, and the first thing Harry noticed was the Diary, sitting in the centre of the room in its only little glass stand.

"The Dark Lord's personal diary," Malfoy said, gesturing to the Diary with an arrogant smirk.

Harry did not doubt the glass had a myriad of curses and charms on it. He could probably get through them, but definitely not with Malfoy standing by.

"This is your most prized possession?" Harry asked with false scepticism. "It's just a crappy old diary."

"No, you don't understand," Malfoy said, swaying a little and pinching his eyes. "It's actually – it's…" but he stopped himself. He apparently still had enough wits about him not to go blurting out the true nature of the Diary.

"What's Hogwarts like?" Malfoy asked suddenly, eyes shifting in and out of focus. "Is it still the same? It's insane how much I miss that place. I can't wait until Voldemort breaks in and reclaims it!"

Malfoy was clearly drunker than Harry had thought. "Voldemort doesn't care about Hogwarts," Harry said. "He'll burn it down before he reclaims it."

Malfoy pulled a face and said in a voice full of bravado but lacking in sincerity, "Then good riddance!"

The library doors burst open and Severus Snape stood silhouetted in the doorway. His eyes tracked from Malfoy, to Harry, to the Diary.

"What is going on in here?"

Harry took the bottle of Firewhiskey from Malfoy's hand. "Malfoy's had a bit much to drink," he said quickly.

Snape's eyes narrowed. He stalked to Malfoy's, boots thumping against floorboards.

"Draco, why don't you go upstairs and help yourself to my potions cupboard," Snape said, eyes never leaving Harry.

Malfoy looked as though he would argue the point, but glanced between Snape and Harry, scowled, and half stalked, half stumbled from the room.

"What are you doing here, Potter?"

Harry figured there was no use denying it. "I know what the Diary is," he said casually. "I wanted to see it with my own eyes."

Snape's expression did not change. "Why don't I escort you out, Potter?"

Snape turned on his heel and stalked off, leaving no room for argument. Harry resisted the urge to glance back at the Diary. He'd been so close. He dug his hands into his pockets and followed Snape out of the library, down a grand set of stairs and out the front door. Night had well and truly fallen, but it was a clear night and the moon lit their path. The Manor was surrounded by a lush garden, and Snape wordlessly followed a pebble trail to the edge of the wards. He placed a hand against them and the magic parted easily. Harry stepped through and Snape let the wards snap back into place.

Snape surveyed him through the wards and said, "When I brought you to Voldemort, I'd been very much looking forward to watching the Dark Lord kill you where you stood."

Harry smiled. "Many apologies for my continued existence."

He could just make out Snape giving him the barest hint of a smirk through the darkness. "You're playing a dangerous game, Potter. The Elder Wand is giving the Dark Lord troubles. He does not believe the wand's loyalties belong to him."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means he'll be looking to eliminate whoever does."

Harry recognised the thinly-veiled threat. If Voldemort didn't have the wand's loyalties, the only logical conclusion was that Harry did.

"I guess I'll just have to prove myself more valuable than a wand," Harry said. He downed the rest of Malfoy's Firewhiskey, saluted Snape with the empty bottle, and disapparated.

He arrived back at Hogwarts, where thankfully the Christmas Ball had drawn to a close. Only once he was in the quiet hallways of the castle did he realised he was, in fact, a little drunk. The Firewhiskey hit him all at once, and he suddenly felt as though he was very far from the surface of his mind. He could walk steadily enough, but he felt as though he could topple over at any moment.

He made it back to his room, where he found his counterpart and Ginny sitting on his bay window wrapped up in one another.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, rubbing his eyes.

"We saw you watching the Christmas Ball. We felt bad so we came to find you, but then we couldn't find you," said Ginny

"Where have you been?" his counterpart asked.

"Running in circles chasing my own tail," Harry muttered.

He slumped onto the bed, but missed and ended up on the floor. He sighed and leant his head back against it, staring up at a spinning ceiling and letting the Firewhiskey drag his mind down further.

"Dark Harry… are you drunk?" Ginny asked.

Harry didn't reply. Surely this wasn't drunk. Maybe he was just tipsy. Verging on drunk. His counterpart and Ginny shared a look.

Ginny got up and sat beside him. She smiled kindly down at him and asked in an overly curious tone, "Harry… can we ask you something? Why do you sometimes tell Hermione to 'shut up' even if she hasn't said anything?"

Harry smiled back at her, besotted by her attempt to take advantage of his drunken self. "Nice try," he said. He wasn't as drunk as that. "Sometimes I just hear her in the back of my head. Whispering things."

Oh. Maybe he was as drunk as that.

His counterpart tugged on Ginny. "Let him be, Gin," he said. "It's not right."

Harry scowled at his counterpart as Ginny retreated and wrapped herself up beside him. His counterpart was absently fiddling with a snitch he hadn't noticed before.

"So you two are serious about this relationship thing, huh?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Ginny said, smiling at his counterpart. "Have you got a problem with that?"

"I suppose not."

"What's Ginny like in your universe?" his counterpart asked. "Is she as brave and beautiful and kind?"

Harry thought of shy, little Ginny. "I don't really know. She was never herself around me… too intimidated, I guess."

"_I _was intimidated by _you_?" Ginny asked indignantly.

"Yeah. By my fame or whatever."

"Your _fame_?"

"Mhm," he murmured, closing his eyes. "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived."

He was vaguely aware that he shouldn't be saying this, but why did he care so bloody much? What did any of it matter anyway? His eyes stung.

Ginny asked with amused incredulity, "You're famous just because you're alive?"

"How many people do you know continued to live after being hit by a Killing Curse?"

Ginny laughed, but his counterpart frowned. "That's ridiculous!" Ginny said. "That's _impossible_!"

"He's just messing with you, Ginny," his counterpart said. "Apparently Drunken Dark Harry has a sense of humour. He thinks we'll believe anything he tells us."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I also killed a basilisk when I was twelve."

"See?" his counterpart said. He stood, tossing the snitch into the air and snatching it back again. "Come on, let's leave my drunken self to his ramblings."

"I also helped Sirius Black escape imprisonment on the back of a hippogriff," Harry said with a provoking grin, unsteadily getting to his feet as well. "I was sent over a hundred Hogwarts Acceptance Letters. Ron and I once flew Arthur's Ford to Hogwarts because we missed the Hogwarts Express. One of my stupid schemes resulted in Hermione turning into a half-human, half-cat hybrid!"

"Will you shut up?" his counterpart snapped.

He threw the snitch into the air again, but this time Harry snatched it out of the air before he could. "How old were you when you became Seeker?"

"Give that back!"

His counterpart tried to snatch it from him, but Harry held it out of his reach. There was a strange latch wrought into the smooth golden metal. He clicked it curiously, and the snitch snapped open to unveil a little black rock with the Deathly Hallows insignia carved into its surface.

Harry still had enough wits about him to know exactly what that stone was.

"Why do _you_ have a Hallow?" Harry asked. The same Hallow Dumbledore had said was currently in Voldemort's possession.

His counterpart swallowed hard. "Professor Dumbledore told me I was the best person to safeguard it. I'm the last person who would be tempted to use it because I've experienced the least loss – so just give it back, okay?"

Harry glared at his counterpart, an unsettling change coming over him. He cracked a smile. "That's right, you have experienced the least loss. Your eyes are green. Your forehead is clear. Your back is as smooth as the day you were born. Hell, Voldemort doesn't even know your name!"

The room came alive, shuddering in a wave of sudden anger. Ginny and his counterpart backed away, both reaching for their wands.

"Harry–" Ginny began.

"Why do you get everything? Huh?" Harry spat at his counterpart. "What did you do that I didn't? _What made you so fucking special?"_

"You think your life is so difficult!" his counterpart snapped. Ginny tried to hush him, but he shook her away. "How powerful are you, anyway? What the hell are you complaining about? You're free to leave whatever it is that's so terrible in your universe behind! Here you have a purpose!"

"_Purpose?_" Harry snarled. "I have three wizards trying to lay claim over me! That is not a purpose! Are you hunting Deathly Hallows?" He waved the snitch in front of him and laughed. "You think you can handle being the Master of Death? You know _nothing_ about death! You live this happy, sheltered little life with your girlfriend and your Christmas Balls and your Quidditch Games because never mind, your evil alternate self is here to do the dirty work!"

"You enjoy it!" his counterpart returned. "I saw you grinning like mad while you were duelling Professor Dumbledore! You act like a martyr but you're a _champion!_ You're going to be the Saviour of the Wizarding World that I should have been!_"_

"I cannot _believe_ you are so stupid that you are actually jealous of _me!_"

"I am not jealous! You're a dark wizard!"

"Oh, piss off!" Harry snarled. "You change your mind about my status as a dark wizard ten times a day. You don't actually care if I'm dark, you just want to prove that you're better than me once and for all."

"I am better than you!" his counterpart snarled. "I care about my friends. I would die for my family! I'm fighting for the side of the light because it's the right thing to do – not because I was forced into it! I would never spurn my parents, or deface my skin with dark runes! I'm not a bloody Parselmouth! I haven't lost the ability to _love_!"

He gripped Ginny's hand as he said it, red in the face and glaring at Harry. The room went still, Harry's anger dissipating as quickly as it had come, and he suddenly just felt cold and hollow and tired, his counterparts' words echoing in his ears.

"I completely agree."

His counterpart looked affronted and fumbled for something to say.

Harry shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "Just… get out."

His counterpart stuttered, still coursing with anger, but Ginny seized him by the shoulders and steered him from the room. "Good night, Drunk Harry," she called over her shoulder.

Out in the dark stillness of the corridor, she pulled her boyfriend close and cupped his face in her hands while he silently fumed.

"Forget about him," she murmured.

"No," he growled, pulling away from her. "I am so sick of his better-than-me-in-every-way attitude. He's been here for months and hasn't been the target of a single prank. I say it's about time he got a taste of our brand of mischief!"

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

It was now less than a week until Christmas. Harry had less than a week to destroy three horcruxes and murder a dark lord. He sighed, seized a book from the shelf of the Hogwarts Library and riffled irritably through it. He was trying to distract himself from his drunken quarrel with his counterpart by focusing on the Diary.

It seemed that he might have no choice but to stage a heist on Malfoy Manor. The only problem was, he had no idea how to do that. He was searching through books in the slim hope that something would inspire him. Daphne had been helping him, but she was currently engrossed in a book entitled 'Muggle Mayhem: A 20th Century Comprehensive History'.

He noticed a book entitled 'Crafty Conjurations for the Common Criminal'. He tried to pull it from the shelf but when it came free from its neighbours it suddenly leapt into the air and took to flapping above his head, chanting, "Nerd! Nerd! Nerd!"

Fred and George appeared on either side of him, snickering. Fred easily cancelled whatever had possessed the book while George presented Harry with a large display box filled with an assortment of curious inventions.

"Greetings, Mr. Champion of Worlds!" said George.

"We wondered if we could try again at tempting you with some deliciously nifty mischief makers?" said Fred.

"I already told you guys I don't have any money," Harry grumbled.

"Ah, but have you heard about our latest special?"

"One hundred percent off?"

"As of five second ago!"

"A complete _steal_!"

"But hurry, it's only for a limited time!"

Harry glanced sceptically between them. "What's prompted this act of charity?"

"You're working to defeat Voldemort, Potter. We figured we could do our part," said Fred.

"So, what do you say?" said George.

Harry surveyed the items. Decoy Detonators. Instant Darkness Powder. Sticky Trainers. They were ingenious in a juvenile kind of way. They clearly had a knack for mischief making. Maybe that was exactly what he needed.

"How would you two like to do a little more than your part?" Harry asked. "Have you ever staged a heist?"

Daphne dropped her book and made a noise of disgust. Harry ignored her.

The Twins shared identical grins. "Ah, Potter, be it from Dumbledore's Office,"

"Or Filch's filing cabinet,"

"Or Ginny's childhood diary,"

"It's fair to say that heisting is our _specialty_!"

"Excellent," Harry said, matching their grins while Daphne scowled at the three of them.

Harry explained the situation to them, and the Twins were quick to begin brainstorming, coming up with devious ideas that never would have occurred to Harry. The four of them spent the day scheming until Harry's head felt quite heavy when he finally escaped to his room for the night.

He opened the door – and his stomach dropped. Voldemort stood before him. _His _Voldemort, with the expression of murder of his face. He held Harry's horcrux in one hand, and a basilisk fang in the other.

"You're out of time, Potter!" Voldemort hissed. He raised the fang above the horcrux. Harry's breath caught. Blood thundered in his ears. His vision tunnelled.

"I still have time!" Harry choked out, too afraid to move. Too afraid to _breathe._

Voldemort just gave him a snarling, venomous grin and brought the fang down on the little lion.

"NO!"

Harry lunged for the horcrux, but he sailed right through Voldemort's visceral form. He rolled onto his hands and knees and cried out as the fang connected with the pendant. He recoiled. He screamed. He _crumpled_. He clawed at his chest, waiting for the wave of excruciation to come.

Nothing happened.

He glanced up, panting, heart pumping a skipping beat in his chest. Voldemort raised his fang again, venomous smile still affixed to his face. "You're out of time, Potter!" he hissed again, and let the fang drop. Harry flinched, but nothing happened. Voldemort merely lifted the fang up once again, said, "You're out of time, Potter!" and let it fall, like an automated robot.

Confusion washed over him. He shakily got to his feet, heart threatening to burst out of his chest. He glared in confusion at the automated form of Voldemort. That's when Ginny, Hermione, Ron, and his alternate self revealed themselves from beneath the Invisibility Cloak.

It was a boggart.

"You psychopathic pieces of filth!" he snarled. The beast reared its furious head in his chest. He let it. He sent the teens hurtling across the room. "_What is wrong with you_?"

The door burst open. James and Sirius barged in with wands raised. "What's going on? We heard–"

They both froze at the sight of Voldemort. Harry curled his hands into fists to stem the flow of magic and fled, shoving James and Sirius out of his way.

"Keep your idiotic children away from me!" he hissed at them as he passed.

James stared after his alternate son and turned back to the teens who were picking themselves up off the floor. Voldemort folded in on himself, swirling and twisting, before transforming into Lily's cold, departed form. James' eyes widened with understanding.

"Riddikulus!" James chanted, and Lily burst out laughing, clutching her middle, and folded in on herself. He forced it back into the chest and closed the lid. "What the hell is going on here?"

The teens shared guilty looks. His son stepped forward, refusing to meet his eye. "Um, as you know, Dad, we've made it our mission to try and get close to my alternate self to help him in his task to defeat Voldemort, but also to find out as much as we can about him, and, well, Hermione thought – I mean, it struck us together that there are ways we can find out things about someone's personality, such as their Patronus form, or what Amortentia smells like to them, or… what form their boggart takes…"

"… so you set his worst fear on him," James finished, scrubbing his face.

"What was it?" asked Sirius.

"It doesn't matter!" James said before any of them could answer. "That was an awful thing to do. You had no right to go dredging up his deepest fears!"

"We just wanted to prank the guy," said Ginny. "We weren't expecting his boggart to be so… scary."

James scoffed. "You wanted to _prank_ him? You're telling me that when faced with possibly the snarkiest, most frustratingly guarded person this school has ever seen, your best effort was just to set a boggart on him? _That_ is the height of mischievous ingenuity to you?"

"Hey, Professor Dumbledore told us to–" Harry began.

"Did Dumbledore tell you to set a boggart on him?"

"No, but what we saw–"

"Harry, here's a piece of fatherly advice. You don't have to do something just because Dumbledore told you to. He isn't concerned with your wellbeing at heart."

Harry frowned. "What are you talking about? He's Professor Dumbledore!"

James brushed a hand through his hair. "Just… stop experimenting on your counterpart. Leave him alone," he said, pointing out the door.

Harry scowled at James but stalked past regardless. The teens followed behind, and they silently went to the Gryffindor Common Room, where they sat dejectedly around one of the roaring fireplaces in a heavy silence.

After a long moment, Ron said, "Are we going to talk about what his boggart was or what?"

"I'm pretty sure we all know what we saw," Harry muttered.

He took out his journal which had now become half filled with musings and speculations over his alternate self. He flipped to an empty page and wrote just four words, underlining them. He turned the journal around to show the others what he had written, and the teens gazed at the words and then at each other in ominous silence.


	16. Steal the Light

**Chapter 15: Steal the Light**

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry ran a freckled hand through oily, shoulder-length hair and squinted up at Malfoy Manor in the darkness. He, the Twins, and Daphne stood just beyond the wards.

Was he really going to do this? Was he insane for getting the Twins and Daphne wrapped up in this? What if they were caught? It would be his fault. He could have gone to the Order. They would not have hesitated to take part in this heist for the Diary, but he just couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to go to them. He didn't need their help. Or their trust. Daphne and the Twins would just have to do. It was just a dirty old book in a Pureblood manor.

A manor house probably overflowing with protective curses and charms. They would have to get through them all completely undetected. He couldn't afford even a whiff, a hint, or a passing suspicion that he'd been here. Voldemort was already suspicious enough. He'd Polyjuiced himself to look like Charlie Weasley, so if something went wrong but they still managed to get away, he could still beg plausible deniability to Voldemort. It would hardly absolve him of the Dark Lord's wrath, but he'd at least get a chance to scrape back into Voldemort's good favour.

Daphne snapped him out of his spiralling thoughts with a nudge. She raised a hand to show a ring with a golden ruby encrusted into its surface. Fred and George did the same. Harry raised his own ring, and they took in turns tapping the ruby, causing the other three to glow hot against their skin. A silent means of communication.

Harry nodded, and stepped toward the wards, motioning for the three of them to wait. He raised a hand, closed his eyes and felt the magical barrier thrumming against his fingertips. His fingers twitched as he sorted through it, as though he was untangling a tapestry. It was slow, painstaking work, but gradually he managed to create a gap, and kept working until he'd created a hole large enough for Daphne, Fred, and George to crawl through.

Once they had clambered to the other side, he awkwardly manoeuvred through himself and slowly let the wards knit back together. If he let go too rapidly, they'd snap together and become unstable, threatening to activate and blow their cover.

Confident he did not trigger the wards, he turned and led them through the garden bed, thick with exotic plants and trees, and blanketed by a thin sheet of snow. It was pitch black beneath the foliage, so he braved the crunch of gravel and snow on the path, where their way was lit by the pale glow of the moon.

He led them to the eastern wall of the manor and gazed up at the window on the second floor. He had to guess that was the window to the library, based only on his brief visit.

Fred retrieved three pairs of Sticky Trainers from his backpack and they slipped them on. Harry scowled in disdain at their green colour and the groovy font of 'Sticky Trainers' emblazoned on the side. This was a heist, not a bloody birthday party.

Daphne went up the side of the wall first, arms flailing unsteadily as her feet attached themselves to the wall and her entire body became perpendicular to the ground. She plodded up the wall like an astronaut on the moon. The Weasley Twins followed.

Harry went next. It was an extremely odd sensation. He felt as though he was perpetually falling backward. Every time he lifted a foot to take a step, gravity threatened to lay claim to him, but never did.

The four of them crowded unsteadily around the window, gazing down at it from their perspective as though it was a mineshaft in the ground. George cast an array of revealing charms on the window, but it exposed no protective spells. He opened the window and inexpertly clambered inside. The rest followed, gracelessly climbing through the window and stepping into the library with quiet thuds.

Fred immediately went to the entrance of the library, cracked open the door, and threaded one half of an Extendible Ear through. He lifted the other half to his ear, listened intently for a moment, and gave them a thumbs up.

Harry lead Daphne and George quietly to where the Diary stood in its glass case, conscious of every breath, every creak, every unexplained noise that could reveal them. Every groan in the venerable floorboards was met with sharpened breaths and pained glances. The Manor felt eerily still, expectantly quiet, as though the very walls were waiting to sound the alarm.

Harry could immediately feel the presence of Voldemort's soul. The Diary sat in its glass case, calling out to him. He found and disabled a Caterwauling Charm and a Severing Charm on the case and opened the delicate door. Before he could grab it, Daphne's caught him by the arm.

She gave him an urgent look. She raised her wand, cast a myriad of revealing charms on the Diary, and found a Soul Burn Curse. She disabled it and raised her eyebrows at him smugly. He rolled his eyes and impatiently snatched it out of the case.

The Diary felt too light. It didn't have that dark presence, that heavy aura he'd come to associate with Voldemort's horcruxes. He flipped through the first couple of pages, then rifled through it in disbelief. The pages were filled with words and images in a medieval script. Nothing like the blank, yellow pages he remembered. He flipped the book over. The cover of Tom Riddle's Diary had been fitted over another book. It was a decoy. No disguising charms. No concealing spells. No impersonating curses. Just pure, Muggle trickery.

Panic flitted through him.

Snape had been on to him, after all.

Had Snape switched out the real Diary for a fake the moment Harry had left? This had to be a trap. He gave the room a paranoid once-over. Surely any alarm would have gone off by now. The others gave him confused looks. He thrust the open book at them.

"It's not the Diary!" he hissed.

Daphne flipped through the book – then wacked him with it with a despairing glare. For a heated moment they stood there in the darkness and eyeballed each other with panicked looks and questioning glares.

What do they do now? Daphne's eyes bore into him.

He didn't have an answer.

The Diary _had_ to be here. How was he supposed to get it, otherwise? He tore his eyes away from Daphne and paced through the library, curling his hands through his Weasley hair. It was all over. He had no way of finding the Diary. He could hardly just come right out an ask. Voldemort and the Malfoys would never trust him enough to reveal the true location of the Diary, and what possible reason could he give for wanting to know? This had been his one chance. The Diary was lost.

He stopped short in his pacing. He'd felt the presence of Voldemort's soul when he'd first climbed into the library… he'd _felt_ it. He turned around and walked slowly back to Daphne and George, surveying the room. Daphne put the Diary back in the case and reset the protective charms.

"The Diary has to be here," Harry whispered firmly. "I can feel it."

Daphne glanced sceptically around the library. "Maybe it's transfigured to look like something else."

He, Daphne and George scattered around the room, casting a critical eye over the books and décor while Fred diligently stood guard with the Extendible Ear still pressed to his own ear. Harry picked up a vase sitting by the window, while George suggested a family portrait or a pot plant, and Daphne came to him with a stack of books. None of them felt right.

"It must be one of the books," Daphne whispered. "Think like a Slytherin. They put a fake in the display that's the centre of attention, so the real thing will be disguised as some random, inconspicuous book that no one would look twice at."

Harry nodded. There was little else in the library besides rows and rows of books. He walked along the isles, forcing himself to proceed slowly and survey the book titles despite the nervous energy coursing through him.

The library was as broad of knowledge as the Hogwarts Library, with books on dark arts, warfare, magical creatures, history, and an extremely large section on potions. He ran his hand along their spines, hoping to catch a whiff of the horcrux's dark weight.

Instead, he felt a strange warmth on his finger, where his ring was glowing. Fred was hastily retrieving his Extendible Ear and backing away from the door. That's when Harry heard the faintest sound of footsteps descending a staircase.

Fred, George, and Daphne immediately made a beeline for the window. Harry edged in their direction, but he couldn't tear himself away from the shelves. The Diary was here. This was his only chance. He couldn't afford to leave without it. The thump-thump of footsteps reverberated from somewhere inside the house.

"Potter!" Daphne hissed.

He couldn't. He couldn't leave empty-handed. His eyes darted desperately over the book titles. He hurried from row to row. 'Challenges in Charming'. 'Bestiarium Magicum', 'Moste Potente Potions'. The Diary could be any one of them.

Then he saw it. A small paperback tucked between two thick hardback volumes.

The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

He hovered a hand over it and instantly felt the darkness permeate his fingertips. He ripped it from the shelf – and had to choke down an agonised cry. A burst of fiery pain crawled up his arm, through his being, clawing around his heart. A Soul Burn. He gripped the book with white knuckles, refusing to let it go, and stumbled for the window.

The others had already climbed out, and gestured urgently at him from the ground. Daphne beckoned to him and made a falling gesture, lifting her wand with a meaningful look. Harry glared at her incredulously. Floorboards creaked behind him. Doorknobs rattled. Hinges squeaked.

He didn't look. He didn't think.

He closed his eyes and half-jumped, half-fell out the window.

Daphne's _Arresto Momentum_ caught him before he could plummet into the garden bed. He clambered to his feet. He grimaced, jaw clenching, and he kicked himself for being such an idiot. Why did he have to go and make everything as painful for himself as possible? He was in for a chronic state of discomfort until he got an antidote for the Soul Burn.

"Who's out there?" a voice came.

They ducked down below the shrubbery and glanced up. Harry swore under his breath. He'd left the window open. It stood ajar with the curtain fluttering like a vigil to their transgressions.

They kept low and darted through the garden, praying the cover of night and shrubberies would shield them. They reached the wards. Harry lifted a hand to it, panting, and tried to focus through the haze of pain. It was no use. His hand was shaking too hard to make sense of the magic in front of him.

"You guys create the bloody gap!" he gasped, stepping back in defeat.

"Potter, only the ward's creator can do that!" said Fred.

"You saw me do it!"

"We're not interdimensional magical prodigies blessed by Merlin himself!" she snarked.

He shut his eyes in exasperation. "It's easier than you think. Work together. Put your hands up to the ward. You have to feel the magic in the barrier and sort through it, physically untangling the magic to create a gap."

Fred, George, and Daphne put their hands to the wards. Slowly, slowly, painstakingly, a tear appeared between their hands. Harry coached them through it, and slowly the hole grew and grew. Harry glanced anxiously behind him while they worked. No one had followed. Perhaps they thought the open window had been the oversight of a thoughtless House Elf.

Finally, after an intense few minutes of concentration, the hole grew large enough to fit them. Harry climbed through first, followed by the Twins and Daphne.

"Okay, now slowly–"

The three of them let go all at once and the wards snapped shut and shuddered, warping and sparkling.

Harry swore loudly. "Idiots!" he hissed.

They fumbled to grip onto each other and Harry hastily disapparated. They landed just beyond the wards of Hogwarts. Fred and George immediately burst out laughing. Daphne quickly joined in. They hurried up the slope toward the castle, bustling with relief and nervous energy.

"That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done!" Daphne said, cheeks flushed with exhilaration.

"I swear to Merlin if you three just blew my cover I'll skin you alive," Harry growled, struggling to keep up with them.

"Sorry, Potter," said Fred. "But we got away with it, didn't we? I can't believe it!"

"I was so sure he had us," said George. "I'm going to need a week for my heart to stop defibrillating!"

"We should celebrate," Daphne pitched in.

"Drinks are on us!" the Twins said in unison.

"You better be talking Firewhiskey. Not that childish Butterbeer crap," Daphne said.

They slowed to a walk inside the quiet halls of the castle.

She glanced back at Harry and gave him a nonplussed look. "Erm, would you like to be yourself again, Harry?"

"That would be nice," Harry said, running a hand through Charlie Weasley's hair. He'd thought it would be nice to get away from the scars and the runes for a while, but they were still there, seared into Charlie Weasley's skin.

Daphne raised her wand and disabled the Polyjuice's affects and Harry felt himself morph back into his familiar body. Daphne gave him a soft smile, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah – yeah, I'm fine," he said, trying not to wince. "Just tired."

"Come on, Harry, we've got some Firewhiskey in Gryffindor Tower. That'll get you fired up again!" said George.

"I'll catch up with you," Harry said, pulling out the transfigured Diary. "I have to take care of this first."

Daphne cast him one concerned look before following Fred and George up the stairs. When they were gone, Harry stopped, leant against the wall and breathed a sigh.

He'd found five horcruxes; he was so close. He sorely wanted to celebrate with some stupefying Firewhiskey, but he needed an antidote for this blasted Soul Burn. It made his entire body spark with pain. He didn't doubt there'd be an antidote in the Infirmary Potions Cupboard, but he could not stand the possibility of facing Mrs. Longbottom after the way he'd lashed out at her after the Hogsmeade incident.

But that was alright. He knew someone else who would at the very least have some painkiller potions.

He gingerly made his way to Remus' Office and found the door closed but unlocked, and the room empty. Everything in the small office was old, worn, scuffed, or tattered. For an instant he was transported back to his third year. He shook the nostalgia away and rifled through the drawers of Remus' desk where sure enough, he found a myriad of potions and bars of chocolate.

The door opened. Harry jumped, and winced at the pain that shuddered through him from the jolt. Remus leant against the door and stared at him with sleepy eyes.

Harry was in too much pain to feel guilty. "What are you doing up?"

"I was awoken by an alarm set off by someone in my office," Remus responded blearily, rubbing his eyes. "What are you doing?"

Harry answered by holding up a vial labelled 'Analgesic Antidote'. He lifted it to Remus as if to say 'cheers' and moved to knock it back in one gulp like a shot of vodka, but stopped with the vial at his lips.

He lowered it a fraction and asked as though fearing the answer, "When was the last full moon?"

"Last night," said Remus. He watched mutely as Harry seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment. "It's okay, Harry. You can have it."

But Harry set it on the desk instead. "I'm sorry."

"I said you can have it. What's wrong?"

Harry sighed. "You wouldn't happen to have an antidote for a Soul Burn, would you?"

"A Soul Burn? Where on earth did you get a Soul Burn from?" he asked. When Harry didn't reply, Remus moved to the desk, picked up the vial, and offered it to him. "Drink it."

Harry turned his face away. "You need it."

"I've been a werewolf my whole life, Harry. I'm used to a little pain."

"So am I," Harry retorted, glaring as though daring Remus to prove him wrong.

Remus sighed and set the vial back on the desk. "Why don't you come down to the Potions Lab with me, and I'll brew you an antidote. It shouldn't take long."

Harry gave him a silent, dubious look. When it was clear Remus was being sincere, he reluctantly and gingerly got to his feet, face screwed up in a grimace. The walk down to the Potions Lab was slow and laborious, but Harry was glad at least that Remus was astute enough to realise he didn't want conversation, and they walked in a silence broken only by Harry's intermittent gasps of pain.

Harry sat on a stool on the opposite side of the potions bench and watched silently as Remus retrieved ingredients and methodically went about chopping and stirring, boiling and dissolving. He was half way through his brew before either of them said a word.

"Why don't you like James?" Harry asked absently.

He recalled the awkward and torturous conversation between James and Remus on the Astronomy Tower before the Hogsmeade incident. James had been so eager to talk to him, but Remus had completely shut him down.

Remus just raised his eyebrows at him. "I could ask you the same question."

"I asked you first."

Remus was silent for a long while. "Back when you were a baby, your life was put in danger, so you and your parents were put under the Fidelius Charm with Sirius as their Secret Keeper," he explained. "Only Albus, Peter, and I knew, but later your parents decided to change their Secret Keeper from Sirius to Peter, and they didn't trust me enough to tell me. Albus was livid. I was… I was hurt."

Harry waited for him to continue. He didn't.

"That's it?"

Remus cast him an anxious look. "They didn't trust me, Harry. After all these years of friendship, after all we'd been though together, after everything we'd done for each other – they actually thought I could sell them out to Voldemort. I understand that they were scared for their lives, but… it's just never felt the same."

Harry studied Remus over the cauldron. "That's stupid," he said simply.

"You asked," Remus said flippantly. "Now, you answer. What have you got against James?"

"Nothing," he said, too quickly. Remus said nothing, waiting for him to continue. Harry just sighed. "Because… because he is the perfect embodiment of everything I can't have."

Remus smiled. "Tell me, Harry. Since arriving in this universe, have you given a single straight answer to a straight question?"

"Probably not," Harry assented. "Any straight answer I gave would just lead to more straight questions, and suddenly I'm bearing my entire soul."

"And would that really be so bad?"

"I don't see you rushing to tell everyone you meet that you're a werewolf."

"Ah, I see," Remus replied. He poured his simmering blue concoction into a glass. "You don't think we'd accept you if we knew the whole truth. You believe no one will ever accept you, and that you're better off alone." He set the glass in front of Harry, leant forward, and stared him in the eye. "You know, Harry, one of the first mistakes humans can make about pain is believing that we must be alone in our suffering."

Harry held his gaze. "I am alone."

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

The following morning, Harry destroyed the Diary and spent the day ruminating over Azkaban. He'd wanted to brainstorm with Daphne, but she was suddenly nowhere to be found. He tried to convince himself that was for the best, anyway. He shouldn't drag her into this. Azkaban was no neighbourly manor house. He knew the rational thing to do would be to go to the Order, but he just couldn't bring himself to walk into Dumbledore's Office.

But Merlin knew he wouldn't be able to do this by himself. The thought of so many dementors made him cold with dread.

He returned to his room after breakfast, whereupon frustration curdled his gut upon finding his alternate self and Ginny waiting for him. He stared at them, dumbfounded by the sheer audacity, walking in here like they owned the place after the stunt they'd pulled with the boggart.

"Get out," he said resolutely, pointing them out the door.

"Listen to what they have to say," said Daphne. He hadn't noticed her sitting at his window.

"We wanted to apologise for the boggart," Ginny said, stepping forward. She was clutching a small leather journal. "It was childish, and our only defence is that, well, most of our worst fears are stupid things like spiders and bad grades and stuff. We made a mistake, and to make up for it, we wanted to give you this."

She held out the journal.

His counterpart said, "It's a list of everything–"

"I know what it is!" Harry snapped. "Ever since I got here you've been prying into my business. You think I haven't noticed that journal you're infernally scribbling in? You think I don't know what that's all about?"

"So take it!" Ginny implored, thrusting it at him. "We don't need it anymore."

Harry narrowed his eyes at her, then snatched it from her hand. "Thanks. Now get out."

"Read it first, Potter," Daphne said.

There was something about her tone of voice, her solemn gaze, that made him pause. He cast wary glances at the three of them, then sat down on the couch and flicked through the first few pages. It was filled with observations and musings, neatly dot-pointed with speculations written in the margins.

_Holly doesn't exist. Doesn't care if he lives or dies. Parcelmouth. That makes him a dark wizard! Three runes. Do they make him more powerful? Straps or Posts._

The list went on and on, for pages and pages. He couldn't believe how much they'd managed to glean from him. How much he'd let slip. He flipped through pages and pages of details and snippets of his life.

_Has panic attacks. Can't smell Amortentia. Doesn't have an Animagus._

He flipped the page again and found just four words written at the top, hastily written and underlined. He suddenly noticed how the three of them were standing around him with bated breaths, wands at the ready, caution in their eyes, while he stared down at four words that seared him to his core.

_He has a horcrux._

* * *

Hey, so, apologies for the extended absence. I guess I just had some stuff happen in real life that made it difficult to focus on anything else. Anyways, gonna do my best to get back to updating regularly.

And big thank you to haphne24, my first ever beta reader!


	17. To Bear One's Soul

**Chapter 16: To Bear One's Soul**

They knew he was as dark as they come.

Broken beyond repair.

Monstrous.

They'd seen his boggart. They'd watched Voldemort stab a pendant with a basilisk fang, and they'd seen Harry's gut-wrenching reaction. Only a fool would fail to put two and two together.

How had he not seen this coming?

He had to get out of here. Before the Order came. Before they could feed him to dementors. But where would he go? As much as he hated it, he needed the Order. He needed them if he ever wanted to get back to his universe.

He stared numbly at the scribbled words. He could feel their gazes burning into him. His counterpart, Ginny, and Daphne hadn't gone to the Order yet. Could he contain this? He could threaten them – but with what? Nothing. He could obliviate them, but they've probably known for hours. Obliviating that much would be far too noticeable. He could deny it, but he'd been staring at these words for far too long.

His silence was as good as a confession.

He closed the journal. Let it fall to the coffee table with a deft thud. He closed his eyes, tried to swallow down the nauseous panic.

"What do you want from me?" he asked quietly.

They recoiled. His counterpart released the breath he'd been holding and turned away from Harry in disgust. Daphne closed her eyes and lifted a hand to her face, while Ginny went tense and bit her lip. They'd been hoping he would deny it.

Ginny withdrew a vial of Veritaserum from her pocket and slowly set it on the coffee table between them.

"We want the truth," she said with a guarded tone. They still had their wands drawn and at the ready. "We want to know why you're the way you are. Why you have a horcrux, and that shackle, and the runes, and everything else. We want to know everything about your universe – and then we will decide whether or not to go to the Order." She said the last bit all in a rush, tensing in anticipation of Harry's reaction.

He just stared at the little vial, wondering why they hadn't gone to the Order already. He supposed he could guess. Because he was Harry. Their friend. They wanted there to be a redeeming explanation. Their wholehearted belief in the goodness of his counterpart was the only reason he wasn't already in Azkaban.

His counterpart raised his wand. "Drink the potion," he demanded.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Put the stick away, Potter. If your alternate self is as dark as you think he is, that's not going to be of much use to you."

"No, I think it will," his counterpart spat, glaring at Harry. "Because if you try anything at all, we'll go straight to the Order. Everyone will learn that their Champion of Worlds is evil unless you drink the Veritaserum and tell us everything."

"I'm not evil – I just–"

"You deny having a horcrux?"

Harry winced. He ground his teeth together, stared at his hands, and shook his head.

His counterpart lowered his wand. "Drink the potion."

So here it was. The very thing he'd been desperate to avoid from the moment he'd arrived. He could only imagine how they would react when they knew the whole truth. They would go to the Order regardless. They would not hesitate to send him to Azkaban.

He had to contain this.

"Okay," he said finally. "I'll drink the potion and answer your questions, only after you've gone under Liplocker Oaths."

"Not a chance!" his counterpart scoffed. "Then we won't be able to tell the Order what a piece-of-scum dark wizard you are."

Harry flinched. "Yes, you will. You just won't be able to go into the details. They'll still believe you – and if… if you want to cart me off to Azkaban, I'll go without a fight."

He didn't know if it was true. Just the thought of those dementors made his skin crawl with dread.

His counterpart wasn't buying it. "No. You don't get to make conditions."

"Come on Potter, have some sympathy," said Daphne. "There's obviously a good reason he's fought so hard to keep whatever this is a secret."

"Yeah – the reason is because he's evil and he's been caught and he's making a stupid attempt to stop us from warning the Order!" his counterpart retorted.

Harry said, "I've proven that the only thing I care about is defeating Voldemort and getting back to my universe. Which is also the only thing the Order wants. It's going to take a hell of a lot for them to throw their last hope into Azkaban and throw away the key."

"You have a horcrux. That means you're a dark wizard. That's reason enough to throw you into Azkaban."

"The world is so black and white to you, isn't it?" Harry snapped. "Fine – you got me! I'm a dark wizard with a soul torn loose. So what? I'm one dark wizard working to kill another. Dumbledore doesn't have a problem with that. He knows I will stop at nothing to complete the task he summoned me for. You know this too, which is why you haven't gone to him already. You're doing this purely because you're burning with curiosity and you want to hear the story first. So don't fuck around. If you want to hear it, you go under Liplocker Oaths."

Harry glowered at each of them in turn, waiting for a verdict, trying not to let on how utterly terrified he was on the inside. His counterpart, Ginny and Daphne looked uncertain, but perhaps in the true nature of children, their curiosity triumphed over their common sense.

The three of them begrudgingly clasped Harry's hand, one by one, to commit themselves to the Oath. They would be unable to divulge any details of the ensuing conversation to anyone not present in this room. The Liplocker Oath was essentially the less fatal little brother of the Unbreakable Vow. They wouldn't die if they broke the promise, they would simply find themselves physically incapable of doing so.

After the Oaths were placed, his counterpart withdrew to stare out the window reflecting his own face back at him, while Daphne stood by the door, as though she disapproved of the entire affair but refused not to be part of it. That left Ginny to face him.

Harry swallowed down the veritaserum, exhaled slowly, and in that breath told himself he didn't care anymore. He didn't care what they knew. He didn't care what happened after. He didn't care.

"What's your name?" Ginny asked.

Harry sank back against the couch, stared up at the ceiling, and let the answers tumble freely from his lips. "Harry James Potter."

"Who are you parents?"

"Lily and James Potter."

"Have you created a horcrux?"

"Yes."

"Do you follow Voldemort in your universe?"

"Yes."

"I knew it!" his counterpart hissed, twisting around to jab his wand in Harry's face. "I knew you were–"

"Now ask if I follow him _willingly_," Harry said with forced calm, staring down the barrel of his counterpart's wand.

"Do you follow Voldemort of your own free will?" Ginny asked.

"Of course not!" he said, glaring at his counterpart who narrowed his eyes and lowered his wand a fraction.

"So – he has you Imperiused? Or–"

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Look, just… just let me explain this myself. When I'm done, you can ask all the questions you want."

Ginny nodded. "Okay, Harry. Tell us everything."

Where did he even start? He'd done monstrous things for a Dark Lord. How could he possibly make them understand that? There was no understanding that. He raked a hand through his hair and fidgeted with the empty vial.

"Everything went wrong in my fourth year of Hogwarts," he began finally. "Voldemort broke into Hogwarts and brought every last one of his Death Eaters with him. It was the middle of the night. It caught us completely by surprise. We barely stood a chance from the very beginning, and it was immediately clear what the Death Eaters' objective was. Destroy the school. Take the students."

"_Take _them?" Ginny echoed.

Harry nodded, the memories of that fateful night flooding back all at once.

"They kidnapped students who were Mudbloods and the Blood Traitors. We who weren't worthy of the magic in our veins. Voldemort gave a little speech about how we had forsaken our magic, how our lives were a privilege, and how we deserved only death, but that he was willing to be _merciful,_" he spat the last word with a bitter laugh.

He went strangely numb as he recounted that night. He'd thought these memories would be harder to voice, but the Veritaserum compelled the truth to flow freely.

He told them of being taken to Gaunt Camp, of having runes carved into his skin. One to track him, one to summon him, and one to bind the soldiers all together, so that no matter how far they ran, no matter where they hid, they were always trapped.

He told them of Voldemort's plans to turn them into an unwilling army of dark soldiers. Of being forced to train in dark magic, and of the hopeless futility of trying to fight back. Of learning quickly to do exactly as you were told on threat of the Cruciatus or something worse.

"After three years, Voldemort finally decided we were ready. He used us and his Death Eaters to invade the Ministry and take over the Wizarding World. Now he's the Minister of Magic, enacting his new world order, and using us as his scapegoats and his peacekeepers. He threatens our lives to anyone who might stand against him, and then he forces us to hunt them down."

"You… you really are a dark wizard," his counterpart said. There was no hint of triumph or derision in his voice.

Harry nodded, staring at his hands.

"What has he made you do?" his counterpart asked. "What have you done for him?"

"What he ordered me to. I've kneeled. Fought. Killed."

"_Killed_?" his counterpart echoed with visible repulsion. "You killed for him!? I would never do that no matter what Voldemort threatened me with."

"Wouldn't you?" Harry asked tiredly. "If Voldemort made you choose between killing one muggle and watching ten of your closest friends die, which would you choose?"

His counterpart stared at him and said nothing.

"It's an impossible choice, isn't it? It's one that every Dark Soldier has had to face, and we all make the same choice."

His counterpart shook his head. "I'd die before I made a decision like that."

Harry gave a strangled laugh. "I've got a horcrux, remember?"

Daphne raised her eyebrows. "You haven't explained that yet. Why would you tear your soul apart?"

"I didn't. Voldemort did."

"Why would _Voldemort_ give you a horcrux?" his counterpart asked incredulously.

"Because I'd become too valuable for him to lose."

"What makes you so special?"

Harry tried to take a steadying breath. This did indeed require some explaining. He'd never really considered how involved his entire life's story was. This was going to be a long night.

"Have you guys heard of Neville Longbottom?" he asked. "In this universe Voldemort killed him as a baby, because he believed Neville was prophesied to destroy him. In my universe, the prophecy didn't apply to Neville. It applied to me."

"So why aren't you dead?" Ginny asked bluntly.

"It's complicated," Harry said. "Voldemort always had a vendetta against me, but I had my parents, and Dumbledore, and Hogwarts to protect me – that is, until my fourth year, when he suddenly decided he didn't want to kill me anymore. No, no, he wanted me as his puppet, his dark soldier." He tried to stop, but the momentum of the veritaserum spurred him bitterly on. "He wanted the chosen one, the last hope of the light, to kneel for him. Fight for him! Kill for him–"

He broke off with a gasp. The vial he hadn't realised he had clenched in his fist had shattered and sliced into his palm. He let the shards fall to the floor and curled his hand into a fist to stem the thin stream of blood.

He sighed and said with a sour taste in his mouth, "Voldemort may have kidnapped all the soldiers, but it's only ever really been about me. Torturing me. Corrupting me. It fills him with some kind of sick pleasure. He tampered with my magical core – making it bigger or stronger or something, I don't know. He did everything he could to make me his hopeless, mindless soldier. Then one day he decided to tear my soul to shreds so that I can serve him for all eternity."

He forced himself to stop, hating the bitterness that seeped into his words. A heavy silence flooded into the room, a heavy, invisible force pressing down on each of them with the weight of his words. No one knew quite what to say or what to do.

"What's it like?" Daphne asked finally. "Having a horcrux created?"

Harry closed his eyes, unable to keep the memories from assaulting him. "It's worse," he said. "Whatever pain you're imagining right now, it's just… worse." He glanced at his counterpart and said in a horrible attempt to lighten the mood, "Are you still jealous?"

His counterpart just gave a hollow laugh, staring at his hands. "Definitely not," he said. "I honestly never knew I had it so good." He paused. "Why are you trying so bloody hard to go back?"

"Because Voldemort will destroy my horcrux if I don't," the veritaserum forced him to immediately respond.

Daphne raised her eyebrows. "That's the only reason? To protect a shard of your spirit?"

"It's my soul!"

"Haven't you destroyed, like, half of Voldemort's horcruxes by now? He hasn't seemed to notice."

"Voldemort hasn't noticed because he's mangled his soul so much that he's numb to it. Living with half a soul is not living. It's like being half kissed by a dementor! There is nothing I won't do to prevent its destruction."

"That means you're compromised," his counterpart said suddenly.

"What?"

"There's nothing you won't do to preserve your horcrux. So anything Voldemort told you to do, you would do it? Would you kill us? Kill Dumbledore? Kill Mum and Dad and Holly?"

"Voldemort wouldn't order that. He knows the only way I'm getting back to my universe is by following the Order's demands."

"But if he _did_ order you to?" his counterpart insisted. "Would you?"

An answer rose to his lips, but Harry clamped his jaw shut and tried to swallow it down. He didn't want to know. Somewhere deep down, he knew the answer to that question, but he didn't want to voice it. He didn't want to contemplate it.

His counterpart watched him struggle against the veritaserum and gave him a sickened, crestfallen look. "_Would you_?"

"No!" Harry growled. "No – I'd let him – he would…" he couldn't bring himself to say it, but the veritaserum demanded truth. "I'd let him destroy it before I killed any of you."

_And then you'd end it all yourself shortly after_, Hermione murmured to him from somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind.

Living with half a soul was not living.

His counterpart didn't look convinced. "So why aren't you fighting against him?" he demanded. "I don't get it! What have you got to lose? I would never stop fighting him no matter what he did to me or my soul!"

"Something you can safely say knowing you will never be put in that position!" Harry hissed. "You think I didn't fight? I fought against him every day, and all I have to show for it are faded scars, a shackle, and a soul torn to shreds. You can't know what it's like. To live like that – constantly suffering – the only way to survive is to follow orders until following orders becomes second nature. When it's just about survival, you stop caring about others, you stop caring about the greater good. Suffering makes you mean and tired and selfish and monstrous. So there. This is the big secret. I'm a Dark Soldier. A slave of the Dark Lord."

His counterpart still looked as though he did not understand.

Daphne clapped her hands together and said with mock perkiness, "Well, that was certainly an enlightened experience. Why don't we call it a night right there, fellas? I for one could sure go for some dinner and never bringing up this particular topic of conversation ever again."

"Shut up, Daphne," his counterpart said, still frowning heavily. "I'm not done yet."

"Must we really prolong this? You've got the gist. What more could you possibly want?"

"Why do you hate Mum and Dad?"

Harry winced and locked his jaw.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, who cares?" Daphne retorted.

But his counterpart had seen the wince. "Well?"

Harry gave him a pained look and swapped one truth for another. "I just… I find it very difficult to be around them, okay?"

"Why do you hate Mum and Dad?" his counterpart repeated firmly.

"They're dead."

It was Daphne who had spoken. Harry's silence confirmed it as he gaped at her.

"Of course they're dead," she told him softly. "You treat them like ghosts. Your breath catches every time you look at them. You treat everything you learn about them like a revelation. I think they've been dead for a very long time."

Harry was speechless. Goosebumps rose along his skin. He stared at Daphne, fumbling for words. Had he been that obvious? If she had figured it out that easily, had others figured it out as well?

His counterpart was wearing an odd expression. "No, no, my parents don't _die_!"

Harry sighed. "My dear counterpart, that is a sentiment only held by children."

His counterpart swallowed hard, staring fiercely at Harry as though seeing him for the first time. "When?"

"I was a year old."

A strangled sound emanated from his counterpart's throat. "You… you never knew them!" he muttered, barely above a whisper, face cracking with anguish. He curled both hands through his hair and said slowly, "When you were summoned here… you were meeting them for the first time. Holly – she doesn't even exist! Why didn't you say anything?"

Some part of Harry knew his counterpart was allowed to react. That his counterpart was confronting something he had never truly considered a possibility ever before. But that didn't stop Harry from feeling slightly more than a little irritated by his counterpart's reaction.

"Yes, it's all very tragic," he snapped. "Now stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm something to be pitied!"

His counterpart opened his mouth to retort, but stopped, face morphing into countless mixed, unreadable, unfathomable expressions. His mouth snapped shut, and he was suddenly darting for the door.

"Where are you going?" Harry demanded. He magically forced the door shut when his counterpart tried to yank it open.

"They need to know!"

The temperature in the room dropped. Harry gave his counterpart a dangerous, withering look and said slowly, "No. They don't."

"Yes, they do! They're our parents! They can help."

"I don't need – I never needed–" but the veritaserum forced him to choke down the lie.

"But you do need them! They can help! The Order can help! Don't you see? If you explain all of this to them, they'll understand. You're a victim – none of this was your fault! They'll understand and then we can figure out a way to free you – and repair your soul – and free the rest of the Dark Soldiers too – and–"

"Nothing can be done!" Harry burst out, lurching to his feet. "I didn't tell you all of this so you could indulge in some noble little fantasy about _saving_ me. You forced this out of me. You got what you wanted – you know everything, so let me get back to destroying Voldemort so I can return to my world and you can all forget I was ever here. Merlin knows that's what I'll be doing."

Ginny moved to stand by her boyfriend and said, "Your counterpart is right, Potter. The Order needs to know, regardless. You're being controlled by Lord Voldemort! They have a right to know."

Harry tried his absolute hardest to remain calm.

"My Voldemort wants this world's Voldemort dead, just like you do," he said slowly. "Dumbledore has the ritual that's required to return me to my world. As long as he has that, my Voldemort is as helpless as I am. There is no need to go to the Order."

His counterpart's expression became resolute. "You don't get to decide that."

The beast in his gut suddenly roared, lighting up his veins with anger. He curled his hands into fists and tried to swallow it down. Attacking them wouldn't help. _It wouldn't help_.

"I don't get to decide?" he snarled. "You have no idea what you're–"

He stepped forward, ready to unleash. His counterpart and Ginny both had their wands raised. He didn't care. Daphne stepped in front of him.

"Okay, okay, now before we go and end up reducing this entire half of the school into a smouldering pile of rubble, why don't we see if we can't reach a happy compromise, hm?"

Harry stepped away from her and turned his back on all of them, raking his hands through his hair.

Daphne turned to his counterpart and Ginny. "Regardless of whether you want to go to the Order or not, these Liplocker Oaths mean you won't be able to tell them much. How about for now, for the sake of peace, we go ahead and keep out mouths shut? If a situation arises where you feel it would be paramount for the Order to know all about Harry's grizzly past, then by all means, spill as much of your guts out as the Oath will permit. What do you say?"

His counterpart shook his head. "You're making a mistake," he told Harry. "Our parents, Dumbledore, the Order, they're good people. Just because your Voldemort has forced you to stand against them… it doesn't mean you have to treat them like the enemy here, as well. I'm telling Mum and Dad, at the very least."

Daphne scoffed. "Potter, don't you think that–"

"Please," the pitiful word quietly escaped Harry's lips. "I don't want them to know."

His counterpart frowned at him, and Harry forced himself to hold his counterpart's troubled gaze. Harry and Harry stared at each other, and for the first time, understanding passed between them.

Looking as though he would regret it, his counterpart muttered reluctantly, "Fine. We won't go to the Order. For now."

He wrenched open the door, but before storming out, he stopped and turned back to Harry.

"I'm sorry. About everything," he said sincerely.

He marched out the door. Ginny followed after him with one last sympathetic look cast in Harry's direction, leaving Daphne and Harry alone. Harry slumped back against the couch. Daphne sat beside him and pulled his face toward her, examining him while wearing the faintest hint of a smirk.

"Now kiss me, soldier," she purred.

"That's not funny."

He pulled away from her. He was too tired to joke. Too tense to rest. She sighed and reached instead for the shackle beneath his sleeve.

"I just have one question, and then I'll never bring up your nefarious past ever again," Daphne said. "What's the final price?"

"Death."

She frowned down at the shackle, running a finger along the words engraved into its surface. "But you have a horcrux…" she trailed off as the understanding sank in. "What a motherfucker."

Harry huffed a laugh. "I tend to use the term hateful monster… sick bastard… I once called him a deformed lizard-monster. I paid for that one."

She laughed. It sounded far too light, too carefree for the topic of conversation. She settled in next to him and said softly, "I have to say, Potter. That was one hell of a sob-story."

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry was on his way to lunch the following afternoon when he was intercepted by a giddy James.

"Harry! There you are! I've been looking all over for you – I need to show you something!" he said. He was holding a book open which he forced urgently into Harry's hands. "Look!"

The page he had open appeared to be detailing the damage to Gurdyroot crops caused by the 18th Century Goblin Wars. Harry glanced confusedly at James, who was suddenly fixated on his watch. "How in Merlin's name does this have anything to do with–"

That was when he felt it. The tugging in his chest. The book was a portkey.

The moment he realised the fact, the world lurched, the floor spun away, and an instant later he was standing outside, at the end of a gravel drive leading up to a large manor. It was built from white stones and had a charming tiled red roof, and was surrounded by a magnificent if slightly overgrown garden. Lily, Holly, and his counterpart stood close by. Lily and Holly burst out laughing at his arrival. His counterpart looked a little uncomfortable, but couldn't contain his smile. James apparated beside them and joined in, chuckling.

Harry vanished the book in annoyance. "Where are we?"

"Potter Manor, of course," James said, still chortling. "We're going to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day here. We'll have lunch with the family and head back to Hogwarts for supper with the Weasleys, as is tradition. We didn't think you'd be too enthusiastic about the idea, so I decided to get a little creative."

"I'm disappointed in you, Dark Harry!" Holly said. "I was so sure you'd see right through Dad's rouse."

James tutted. "My children always forget that I am the Mischief King! Now come along, we've got a lot to do these next two days."

"Have you all forgotten that I have a Dark Lord to murder?" Harry asked.

"For the next two days, we have," Lily said. "You deserve a break. Voldemort will still be there for the murdering after the holidays. Now come on."

Harry rotated his jaw in annoyance and scowled at his grinning alternate father. James and his alternate family set off down the drive toward the Manor. There was nothing stopping Harry from leaving. He did have a Christmas Day deadline, after all.

However, there was something about being the target of a James' harmless prank, and hearing his mother's bell-like laughter, and witnessing the almost fairy-tale quality of the quaint family manor that made everything else fall away. Perhaps it was morbid curiosity. Perhaps it was just a subconscious drive to torture himself a little more. Whatever it was, he found his feet following after them of their own accord.


	18. The Harry Potter Holiday Special

**Chapter 17: The Harry Potter Holiday Special**

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

"Holly, help me get the tree. Harry, clear a space in the living room. Lily, you grab the presents, and Alternate Harry, go get the decorations from the upstairs cupboard," James ordered.

Before Harry could object, the Potters scattered in four different directions, leaving him entirely at a loss in the middle of the entryway. He was already wondering why he'd followed his alternate family into Potter Manor.

He climbed the stairs and stopped at the first landing, where he was confronted by a long hallway lined by white wooden doors, none of which gave any indication of what might lie beyond them. He opened the first and found a quaint little sitting room. He closed it and opened the next door on the opposite side.

He immediately scowled.

It was his counterpart's room. The walls were painted a garish shade of red, with golden curtains and sheets. He had a boyish bed shaped like a racing car, and every surface was littered with toys and knickknacks.

Harry observed with much pessimism that the bedroom was probably large enough to fit his cupboard several times over.

He ventured further inside. The sun filtering through the window lit up all the dust in the air, giving the room a certain nostalgic glow. He noted the Quidditch posters on the wall. The little plastic glow-in-the-dark stars affixed to the ceiling. The tiny broomstick, fit for a toddler, sitting proudly on the dresser.

His counterpart appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat. He shifted uncomfortably and rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess this must feel pretty strange for you, right?" he asked with a strained smile.

Harry scowled. He didn't need that look of understanding. He didn't need his counterpart's pity. Yes, he'd never felt more like an imposter than in that moment, but he wasn't about to start having meaningful conversations about his _woeful life _with his counterpart.

"There's a guest room you can use across the hall," his counterpart said. "Or – you know, you could have this room – if you want, I don't mind–"

"Just show me where the bloody decorations are."

His counterpart gave a sheepish smile and showed him to the cupboard, which was really more of a walk-in storage room. They found two dusty boxes filled with tinsel and baubles and took one each down to the living room where James and Holly were wrestling with a fir tree.

Once satisfied, James stepped back and flicked his wand at the two boxes. The decorations lifted themselves up and affixed themselves to the tree and across the mantle above the fireplace.

"Perfect," James said, rubbing his hands together.

Lily came bustling in, ushering a mound of colourfully wrapped presents. She dumped them rather ungraciously under the tree and brushed off her hands.

"Alright, we're nearly set," she said. "We just need one more thing. James, come and help."

She rushed out and James followed while Holly and his counterpart inspected the presents beneath the tree.

Holly poked a particularly large present with her finger. "If they didn't get me something from Fred and George's mischief makers I'm going to _die_."

"And if they did, I'll be the one to die," his counterpart muttered. "You're a Potter, Holly! You can't be seen fraternising with the enemy."

She rolled her eyes. "You're the one dating their sister. You're just jealous. Do you need a Green-Eyed Potion?"

"Would Masters Potter be wanting some hot chocolate?"

A House Elf popped into existence beside Harry. He jumped and swore.

"You have a House Elf?" he asked in disgust.

"We have two," said Holly. "This is Noddy."

"Many apologies for scaring Master Harry, Sir!" Noddy said earnestly. "Would Master Harry be wanting–"

"No," Harry said quickly, shaking his head. "I don't want _anything_ from you. Ever. And don't call me that."

"Call you what, Master Sir?"

"_That!_ Mast-" the word caught in his throat. "Just… don't talk to me," he said, and promptly backed out of the room.

He went straight out the front door, and was assaulted by a blast of frigid air that stopped him in his tracks. He should really be getting back to horcrux hunting. There were still two to go. He just couldn't bring himself to take one step further.

He sat heavily on the front steps, ignoring the biting chill. To get either of those horcruxes was not going to be any small feat. To get them both before Christmas was beyond hopeless.

He sighed, and when his counterpart quietly sat next to him, he wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and be done with everything.

"You know, the stuff you do suddenly makes a whole lot more sense," his counterpart said. "Being in my room made you nostalgic for a life you never had, and you don't like House Elves because you know what it's like to be ordered around like a slave. Did Voldemort make you call him that? Master?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry snapped, feeling the humiliation turn ugly in his gut.

"I'm sorry," his counterpart said. "I tried to convince Dad not to rope you into staying here with us, but he wouldn't hear a word of it. I can't imagine what this must be like for you. What all of this has been like for you. I keep trying to imagine what life would have been like without Mum and Dad… but I just _can't_…" he trailed off, but then forced a laugh. "But it can't be all bad though, right? What was Uncle Sirius like as a father figure? That must have been _hilarious_ growing up with him."

Harry stared at the ground and said nothing.

His counterpart shifted awkwardly. "Well, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've been such a dickhead to you. I just… I thought you were just being an asshole! I thought… I don't know what I thought. I didn't want to believe your world could be so bad."

"I'm just glad you'll stop acting like a jealous kid."

His counterpart gave a hollow laugh. "You want to know something? I'm still kind of jealous. I know it's stupid. I guess I love you, I hate you, and I want to be you. All at the same time.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You are _literally_ me."

"No, I'm not. I could never do the things you do. All those things Voldemort has put you through… I'd be a broken mess."

"You're stronger than you think," Harry said quietly. "You just don't believe it because you're only as strong as you need to be, and you haven't had to be strong a day in your life."

His counterpart stared at his shoes. "Yeah, I get it. I'm a kid, I'm naïve, and I've been a dickhead to you ever since you got here. I'm trying to apologise, okay?"

His counterpart hesitated, then dug into his pocket and pulled out his snitch. He offered it.

"Here," he said. "If anyone deserves to bring someone back from the dead, it's you."

Harry stared at the snitch, but shook his head. "There's no one I'd want to use it for."

"Not even to bring back Mum and Dad?"

"There's nothing for them to come back to."

His counterpart gave him an odd, concerned look. "You know that's not true, right?" he said. "Mum and Dad would–"

His counterpart cut off, suddenly finding it very difficult to speak. His jaw seize up, like he was having a stroke or something. James and Holly opened the front door and Harry realised the Liplocker Oath must have taken affect because they'd come within earshot of their conversation.

"Come on boys, we're going to get some Christmas Lights. Harry what's wrong?" asked James.

His counterpart wrestled his jaw back into place. "Nothing," he said quickly. Harry smirked at him. "Don't we already have Christmas Lights?"

"We do, but they've got too many broken bulbs. We'll go get some new ones."

"You use Muggle Christmas lights?" Harry asked.

"Yep, it was a tradition in your mother's childhood, and what's family without its traditions? Up you hop."

His counterpart jumped up, but Harry stayed where he was. "You guys go ahead," he said.

James looked as though he wanted to insist, but hid his disappointment and grasped his counterpart and Holly's hands. They disappeared with a pop and were replaced momentarily by Lily, who was carrying a box of gardening equipment.

"Oh, Harry!" she said in surprise. "I thought you'd gone with James. I was just about to get to work on this travesty of a front garden… would you care to join me?"

He wasn't sure why he said, "Sure," but her pleased expression made him glad he did.

"We won't be able to get much done before tomorrow, but I figure we can have at least the garden beds and the hedges looking presentable," she said.

Harry couldn't figure out why Christmas Day required perfectly trimmed hedges, but didn't bother to argue. They began by pulling all the weeds and overgrowth from the garden beds, then set to work trimming back the unruly plants who'd been allowed to conquer the garden in the Potters' absence.

As they grappled with a particularly adventurous Crawling Ivy that had ventured up the along the chimney shoot, Lily said something that wasn't gardening instructions for the first time that afternoon.

"You know, I don't think you've ever seemed less like your counterpart than in this moment," she laughed.

"He doesn't like gardening?"

"He can't stand it. I tried to drag him out when he was younger, but I just couldn't stand the constant griping and complaining about the dirt under his fingernails and scrapes he'd get. I wonder why something as insignificant as gardening would cause such a discrepancy between the two of you," she said thoughtfully.

Harry didn't need to wonder. He'd done enough gardening for the Dursleys. Of all the chores they'd piled up on him, gardening had always been the one thing he didn't mind so much.

A sudden commotion from the wards signalled the return of James, Holly, and his counterpart. James was holding a bag of Christmas lights, while his counterpart was brandishing a remote-controlled toy plane, and Holly was fiddling with a Game Boy. They came down the drive and stopped short at the sight of Harry in the garden.

"I think I figured out why Dark Harry doesn't like House Elves," Holly smarted. "It's because he wants to _be_ a House Elf!"

James clipped her over the back of the head. "Be nice. At least he's helping his mother out. Why can't you be more like your alternate brother, hm?"

"Probably because her father buys her Muggle toys when he's supposed to be buying Christmas lights," Lily said, eyeing the plane and the Game Boy.

"Look, Mum! It's an arrow-plane! It can fly without any magic!" his counterpart said.

"It's pronounced _aeroplane_, Harry."

But his counterpart wasn't listening. He'd set it on the ground to rip the packaging off. He and Holly spent the afternoon marvelling at their contraptions while James strung up the Christmas lights and Harry helped Lily finish off the garden.

As the sun began to dip toward the horizon and the cold truly sank into the air, the Potters retreated inside and partook in a myriad of Christmas traditions Harry had to pretend to be familiar with. The first involved baking two cakes which were then presented to the two House Elves, Noddy and Tilly. They both turned pink and fussed endlessly about the needlessness of the Potters' efforts, yet nevertheless graciously accepted their cakes from the Potters.

After supper, Harry found himself sitting on an armchair beside Lily, surrounded by family, cupping a hot mug of hot chocolate in front of a roaring fire. James sat on the couch opposite beside his counterpart, cupping his own mug of Barley's Irish Liqueur, regaling them with stories of mischief from his Hogwarts years, as well as his futile efforts to win Lily over.

Holly sat on a cushion by the fire, hanging onto her father's every word, even though Harry was sure she must have heard these stories hundreds of times before. He realised that his counterpart and Holly had grown up with a different Hogwarts. A Hogwarts meant as a last refuge, not just a school. James' stories felt as though they were from a different time, a different world, just like they did to Harry.

James glanced at him. "Alright Harry, I've indulged you with my stories of Hogwarts. Why don't you share a couple, eh? Just a couple."

"Don't do it, Harry," Holly said conspiratorially. "It's a trap. They'll ground you for whatever you reveal."

"Uh, uh," James said, slapping a hand over his heart. "I, James Potter, solemnly swear to meet all confessions told here and now with zero repercussions and only the respect that is due to a fellow mischief maker! Isn't that right, Lily?"

Lily narrowed her eyes at Harry. "So long as it wasn't life-endangering."

Harry snorted. Was there such a thing?

"Come on, Harry," James said, sitting up a little. "Give us your worst."

Harry took a sip of his sickly sweet hot chocolate as an excuse not to respond right away. He hated to admit that there was one story he was admittedly curious to see how his parents would react. But he'd spent so long building up his walls, keeping them out. Was he really going to let all that go now?

It was just a harmless story. It didn't have to mean anything.

"It was the beginning of my second year," he began. "Ron and I were at King's Cross Station, the last two to pass through the barrier to get onto the platform. Thinking nothing out of the ordinary, we ran full pelt at the gateway, as you do, before smashing straight into a painfully solid wall. Somehow the gateway had been sealed. We didn't know how to get onto the platform, and we weren't entirely sure what to do about it."

"Oh lord," Lily said. "Something tells me the plan you came up with was fit for a twelve-year-old."

Harry smiled and said a little defensively, "It was Ron's idea."

James laughed. "Okay, hold up. Let's take a guess. You're on the wrong side of the gateway, worried you might miss the train and get in trouble… so you try to reopen the gateway and end up blowing up the entire station?"

"Harry!" Lily exclaimed.

"No, we weren't _complete_ idiots," Harry droned.

"I'd like to think you both waited calmly for someone to return from the other side and inform them you'd missed the train, or sent an owl to Hogwarts to ask someone to come and get you," Lily said slowly. "But neither of those would be much of a story."

"In retrospect, that would have been the sensible thing to do, yes."

His counterpart said, "Well, the _Harry_ thing to do would be to whip out your broomsticks and fly to Hogwarts like a boss."

"Not quite, but close," Harry said. "See, Ron's dad had this hobby of tampering with Muggle objects, and he had this Ford Anglia that could fly–"

"Oh, dear Merlin," Lily breathed, burying her face in her hands.

James burst out laughing.

Harry couldn't contain his grin. "It was a fun trip. Very scenic."

"But – but – the Muggles!"

"The car had an invisibility button," Harry said. "It lasted a full ten minutes."

Lily gave an exasperated, helpless laugh, and turned to James. "This is your fault, you know. It's your stupid, reckless genes."

"Really, Lily? You're sure it wasn't your sagacious knack for problem solving that led him to believe his only viable option was to fly a car to Hogwarts?"

Holly and his counterpart were giggling. "Please tell me you flew the car straight into the Great Hall for the all-time greatest entrance Hogwarts has ever seen," his counterpart said.

Harry grimaced. "We crashed it into the Whomping Willow."

"Your punishment better have brutal," Lily muttered.

"Oh yes," Harry said lightly. "Detention for a good long while. Howlers for a good while longer."

He failed to mention that it was just Ron who had received the Howlers.

At that, all four of them burst into fits of laughter, even Lily, though hers was more of the so-overwhelmed-with-horror-the-only-thing-to-do-was-laugh variety. Harry couldn't contain his grin. Watching his family laugh, he was suddenly struck by how utterly surreal this moment was. Sitting here, surrounded by a family that had never existed.

Lily reached across a took a hold of his hand. "You know, Harry, it came about in the most horrid of way, but… I'm glad you're here." She hesitated. "Are you?"

Harry wasn't prepared for the sincerity of her words. He took a sip of his hot chocolate which he suddenly suspected may have been spiked with James's liqueur.

Was he glad to be here? He'd been working tirelessly to get back to his horcrux, craving something sitting an entire universe away. Yet he suppose that sitting here, beside his mother, listening to his father's stories, somewhere warm and safe on Christmas Eve… it was almost enough. It almost made everything else seem bearable.

He cleared his throat and tried to say lightly, "Yeah, this is nice."

"I'm proud of you, Harry," Lily said. "I know none of this has been easy for you."

Harry stared at Lily and suddenly found himself trapped in her gaze. Those eyes, still green even in the warm glow of the fire. He felt as though he was inexplicably looking back at himself, his old self, in a manner he'd never experienced when looking at his counterpart.

His breath caught.

He tore his gaze away. This was too much. This was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid. He got to his feet, muttered a hurried "g'night" without making eye contact, and escaped up the stairs.

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

First thing on Christmas morning, the Potters could be found gathered in front of the Christmas Tree. James and Lily sat back, watching and laughing as his counterpart and Holly tore through their presents.

Harry had hung back until Lily had pressed two packages into his hands.

"We know you probably won't be able to take much back to your universe with you, but we couldn't resist," she said with a smile.

Harry accepted them reluctantly, wordlessly taking a seat so that he could carefully remove the wrapping. The first was a little box. He peered into it, and found a tiny black dragon staring back at him. The lithe creature leapt into his palm, twitching its head and giving a hissing cry. Its scales were a glossy black, even its eyes. Nothing but sharp edges.

He glanced at James and Lily uncertainly.

James winked at him. "I did some research," he explained. "I wouldn't be surprised if you felt a certain connection to it, Harry… almost as though you could become that dragon."

Then Harry understood. His animagus. A dragon.

His gut reaction was repulsion. It was exactly what he feared. Something unmistakably dark and vicious. How could James be so casual? Didn't he understand what this form represented?

He set the dragon on the armrest, where it folded around itself and fell asleep. He opened his other gift, much more apprehensive now, and found an informative book on the Northern Crepuscule Dragon. He grudgingly flicked through it, but could not digest anything beyond the fact that it was the smallest breed of dragon, and could only handle short bursts of flight when hunting.

He was distracted by the distinct sound of crunching gravel. He peered out the window, where an honest-to-goodness motorised car was pulling into the drive. He immediately recognised its occupants.

"What the hell are the Dursleys doing here?" he demanded.

James glanced at his watch. "Blimey, its noon already. Trust Vernon to be punctual. Alright kids, clear all this away and go put your presents in you room."

His counterpart and Holly began to gather their gifts in their arms.

"Wait, when you said we were spending Christmas day with the family… you meant the _Muggle _family?" Harry sputtered.

"Of course," Lily said. "What's Christmas without family?"

Harry had nothing to say to that. This was why Christmas Day required perfect hedges. Why the Potters came to Potter Manor for Christmas. You couldn't bring the Dursleys into Hogwarts.

Lily and James went to greet the Dursleys while Harry followed his counterpart and Holly upstairs. He set the tiny dragon and informative book on the dresser in his guest room. He could hear the commotion of families greeting each other downstairs. Perhaps it would only be fitting if he stayed here in this room, pretending he didn't exist.

"Are you coming?" Holly asked from the doorway.

He sighed and reluctantly followed her out. He stopped half way down the stairs and watched the Dursleys as they were ushered inside. At first glance, Aunt Petunia was exactly as he remembered. A freakishly long neck, with a lemon-pinched expression. Yet the way she carried herself was different. She laughed easily at something Lily had said, and her eyes lit up upon seeing Holly.

Dudley was different, also. He was quite a bit older than Harry remembered, which was to be expected, but he only had one chin, and was in better shape than Harry ever could have thought possible. He wasn't nearly as delighted to be here as Aunt Petunia was, scowling and reluctantly shaking James' hand.

Uncle Vernon, however, was exactly as Harry remembered. An oaf of a man, with red cheeks and beady, accusing eyes. As soon as he stepped inside, Uncle Vernon locked eyes with Harry.

"What's all this then?" Uncle Vernon demanded.

"Oh, this is the alternate Harry I was telling you about, Petunia," said Lily.

"My, my," Aunt Petunia said, giving Harry a pleasant smile. "It is astounding what beastly things you people get up to with your talents. What on earth would be the use of having two of the same person?"

"Oh, it's brilliant," his counterpart said easily. "Everyone knows they have an evil alternate self. I'm the first person in history to prove it."

"Well, what did you do to him? Does he speak?" said Uncle Vernon. He had not yet broken Harry's gaze. Harry narrowed his eyes at him.

"Yeah, he's an asshole, but of the loveable variety," Holly said.

"Don't be mean to Dark Harry," his counterpart said.

"Stop calling him Dark Harry!" said James.

"How else are we supposed to differentiate?" Holly asked.

"How about Handsome Harry and Haughty Harry?" his counterpart suggested.

"Four-Eyes and Two-Eyes?"

"Harry and 'the other one'?"

"What do you think, Alternate Harry?" Holly laughed up to him. "Should we just call you 'the other one'?"

Harry froze when they all glanced up at him. He floundered for something to say. "Ron calls me Scarface sometimes," he muttered awkwardly.

"_Scarface_?" his counterpart repeated.

"Like the movie?" asked Dudley.

"Are you sure he's safe?" Aunt Petunia said to Lily in a hushed tone. "He seems a bit like–"

"_A freak_?" Harry interjected, tearing his gaze from Uncle Vernon to glare at Aunt Petunia.

Aunt Petunia visibly recoiled at the word, clutching a hand to her heart. Everyone seemed to stop breathing for a moment. The tension in the room became tangible.

"Well, erm, come on then," James said in an overtly chipper voice, ushering them hurriedly into the living room. "There's a meal waiting in the kitchen that's not going to eat itself."

Lily turned and rushed into the kitchen while everyone else filed into the dining room. His counterpart hung back and said to Harry, "You know before, when I said the that things you do were starting to make more sense? Well, I think you'd be happy to know that I am completely confused again. What the hell was that?"

"What?" Harry asked defensively. "What did I do?"

"Well, that word's kind of taboo around here. That's what Aunt Petunia used to call Mum before they reconciled. It's got history."

"So have I," Harry muttered.

His counterpart went into the living room, but Harry couldn't bring himself to follow, so instead he went into the kitchen, where Lily was busily rushing between the stove, the oven, and the chopping board.

"Why aren't you having the House Elves cook?" Harry asked.

"Oh, Harry," Lily said with an exasperated laugh. "If my sister saw a House Elf, she'd have an aneurism!" She handed him a knife. "Can you finish chopping these vegetables for the salad?"

Harry did as he was told, much preferring being here than out there in the dining room. He watched Lily busily fret over her cooking and thought of Aunt Petunia.

"So… do you and Aunt Petunia… _not_… hate each other?" he asked hesitantly.

Lily shot him a look. "'Hate' is a strong word. We've always had our sisterly squabbles, but we were eventually able to work out our differences."

Oh. How quaint. Thanks to a 'sisterly squabble' he'd spent his formative years living in a cupboard.

Lily suddenly stopped in her fretting. "Now why did you say that? That word?" Harry just shrugged. She pursed her lips. "Now, now, I gave you an honest answer, you can't give me one in return?"

"You and Aunt Petunia never had the chance to reconcile in my world," said Harry.

That was all the explanation he was willing to give. Lily frowned at him, but thankfully did not question further. She handed him the two salads.

"Do you mind setting these on the table?"

He did mind, in fact, because that would mean facing the Dursleys. He slunk into the dining room, where Holly, his counterpart, and Dursley were bickering while James and Uncle Vernon were awkwardly discussing the weather.

Uncle Vernon huffed at the salads. "I hope you don't plan to just feed us this rabbit food all afternoon, boy!"

Harry slammed the dishes down. _Boy!_ How many times had he been called that throughout his childhood? He bit down a scathing response and stalked from the room, absently rubbing at his scar.

He heard Uncle Vernon say behind him, "He's a bit wound-up, isn't he? Where did you say he was from?"

Harry helped Lily bring out the rest of the dishes, and sat uncomfortably between his counterpart and Holly as the two families dug in.

"So, Dursley, what do you think of the Manor? It's got twelve bathrooms," James said.

Uncle Vernon nodded. "That seems like a frivolous extravagance to me. Did you see that car out front? It's got inline engines with six cylinders!"

James smiled slyly. "Hm… seems like you're overcompensating for something there, Dursley. We're sitting on seven acres of land…"

They continued in this fashion back and forth for most of the meal, with Uncle Vernon accidentally getting his elbow in the butter from attempting to show James the mechanisms in his expensive watch, and with James at one point getting up from the table to retrieve a 'priceless family heirloom'. When Uncle Vernon opened his phone to show James the stocks he'd invested in, Harry finally broke down and asked his counterpart what it was all about.

"Ignore them," his counterpart said. "They've had this stupid rivalry over who's worth more for as long as I can remember."

"It ended up becoming a fistfight the first time they met," said Dudley. "And I reckon Dad would have won if Uncle James hadn't cheated."

"Using magic isn't cheating!" his counterpart said, and the two of them resumed their bickering. It wasn't the vindictive, poisonous disputes Harry remembered getting into with his cousin. It was just a brotherly quarrel.

He was just thinking about trying to come up with an excuse to escape this wretched lunch when his scar suddenly seared hot like a whip to wet skin. He flinched and scrubbed at it irritably. It only ever hurt like this when Voldemort was very near and very angry.

He Dark Mark suddenly seared against his skin. Something was wrong. This didn't make any sense. Were both Voldemorts from this world and his signalling him at once? He lurched to his feet, fighting to keep his composure.

When he made for the door, his counterpart tried to follow him.

Harry shoved him back into his chair. "Don't follow," he said in a tone that left no room for argument.

Anxious that a Crucio could be imminent, he ran to the second floor, found another set of stairs, and raced up those, two. He rushed into the first room he came across and slammed the door behind him. It was a library. He fumbled to cast a silencing charm on the door, but something threw him across the room before he could.

He connected with a row of shelves, and watched in a mixture of confusion and horror as a black force blossomed from the Summoning Rune. It was the same dark substance which had first yanked him through universes. It sucked at his magical core like a vacuum, making him gasp. The force rose up, twisting and curling in the air in front of him before transforming into a the form of Lord Voldemort. _His _Voldemort.

* * *

Is it cringey to make his animagus a dragon? Probably. Do I care? Nope, because it fits into my themes, and also, I've got a pretty bitchin' scene in mind, so get ready.


	19. Into the Dark

**Chapter 18: Into the Dark**

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

"What – are – you – doing?" Harry gasped out, bracing himself against the shelves.

Lord Voldemort lifted a hand to study his writhing, smoke-like self. "Something new," he said with a triumphant smile.

"You have to leave! They can't know. You can't–"

"But why not, Harry? Wouldn't it be fun for you to introduce me as your Master?" Voldemort asked with a venomous grin.

Harry's stomach twisted. "No – please–"

"Relax, Potter," Voldemort said, humour fading. He ran his hand experimentally through the shelves of books. His hand passed right through like a ghost. "This is only temporary. I'm siphoning off your magical core. I'll leech you dry if I hang around for too long."

That explained why he could barely breathe. Voldemort had essentially hijacked his magical core. It left him feeling like a fish out of water.

This, however, was only marginally less concerning than the fact that there were two families downstairs who had no idea a Dark Lord had just conjured himself in the library.

"Let us get straight to the point, Potter. How many horcruxes have you destroyed?"

Harry deflated against the shelves and muttered, "Five."

His scar seared hot. The Dark Lord's anger radiated off the walls.

"You're moving too slowly, Potter!" Voldemort hissed. He yanked Harry's horxrux from around his neck and shook it in front of him. "Today is Christmas Day – you should be by my side!"

"I'm trying–"

"_Are you_?" Voldemort snarled. "What have you been up to today, hm? Breaking into Azkaban? Murdering Nagini? Or spending Christmas with your _happy little family_? Opening gifts? Stringing up Christmas lights? Are you a Dark Soldier or a hapless Muggle?"

"What – how–"

Voldemort sneered down at him, baring yellow teeth. "I've been watching everything you do, Potter. Every time you've entered a stressful situation, I have entered your mind. I have seen everything you have done in this blasted universe, and you are not working as hard as you should be."

Bile rose in the back of his throat. Voldemort had been in his mind? Surely that wasn't possible. Not an entire universe away. This had to be a trick. One more manipulation.

"How?" Harry spat.

Voldemort crouched in front of him, blackened eyes simmering with anger. "I am not the Voldemort of this universe!" he hissed. "You think you are an Occlumency prodigy? Fool. My counterpart has not trespassed into your mind because I have been keeping him out! All thanks to our _delightful_ little connection. You've become side-tracked, Potter. Do not forget that I have your horcrux. And if that is not incentive enough, I have an entire army of soldiers waiting in line to die until you return."

"How am I supposed to break into Azkaban?" Harry burst out. "I can't fight that many Dementors! I can barely handle one!"

Voldemort scoffed in disgust. "A Dementor is only as powerful as you allow it to be, Potter. Perhaps if you stopped fighting against your true nature, you wouldn't be so affected."

"My true nature," Harry repeated bitterly, anger suddenly burning beneath his skin. "As a dark wizard? That will never be my nature."

Voldemort smirked. "You still have too much heart, Potter. That is what makes you weak. I was born without the delusion of love, and that is what makes strong. Let go of your heart, and those Dementors will not be a problem. You will be unstoppable."

Voldemort's voice had gone low and solemn, black eyes gazing at Harry with a burning intensity. Harry suddenly had the urge to tear those eyes out of their sockets. To burn the Dark Lord from the inside out for all he had done.

Voldemort stood suddenly and sneered down at him.

"You are close, Harry. Get the job done. Don't forget that I will be watching,," he said, and as his spoke, the edges of his writhing form began to flicker and blur. He gave Harry an amused smirk. "You also might want to take care of the situation on the other side of that door."

Harry's stomach dropped. He quickly charmed the door to wing open, revealing his counterpart stood, frozen, in the corridor. He'd clearly been eavesdropping. When their eyes met, his counterpart's face paled and his mouth dropped open. His eyes flicked between Harry and the Dark Lord.

Voldemort's small, amused smile never ceased as his body folded into himself and evaporated into nothing, leaving the two Harry's alone to face each other.

"That – that was that Voldemort," his counterpart breathed. "From your universe!"

Harry got to his feet and tried to regain his composure. "I told you not to follow," Harry growled, body flooding with relief as Voldemort's hold on his magical core ceased and the pain in his scar lessened.

"As if I was just going to let you run off like that," his counterpart said. He paced from foot to foot, gazing at the space where the Dark Lord had been. "That was… That was… You have to tell someone. This – this can't be allowed! You have to do something–"

"Nothing can be done," Harry muttered. His counterpart tried to help him to his feet. Harry pushed his counterpart away and stalked out of the library and down the corridor.

His counterpart followed. "Yes there is! There has to be. Voldemort was wrong. Love isn't your weakness. What's Professor Dumbledore always saying? Mum and Dad can help – they're our strength!"

"I said forget it!" Harry growled.

"No! You don't deserve this! What Voldemort is doing – it's not right! Can't you see that?"

Harry stopped. He closed his eyes.

He tried to find some semblance of calm.

He found none of it.

The world crystalized. The beast in his chest roared. For an instant he left his body, twisted around, and plunged his fist into his counterpart's nose with all the force he could muster. His fist exploded with pain while his counterpart stumbled back, groaning and clutching his face, eyes watering. Harry seized him. Pinned him against the wall.

"You think I don't _know_?" Harry hissed, watching the crimson blood begin to trickle from his counterpart's nose. The beast roared in bloody victory. "You think I don't understand how deeply _wrong_ it is that I have to obey him? I understand _perfectly._ That changes nothing. This is the way it has to be. You will stay out of this, you will keep your mouth shut, and you won't breathe a word of this to your parents, or I will teach you _precisely_ why I am the Dark Lord's favourite."

True fear and confusion lit up his counterpart's eyes. The kind of fear that made Harry feel monstrous. He was all too aware that he was the villain in this scenario. His Animagus was a dragon, after all.

He hated every word he spoke, but it had to be said. He had to keep his counterpart away. Keep them all away. Before his Voldemort decided they were threats. He gave his counterpart one last shove into the wall and stalked off.

He had too much heart.

What did that even mean? He didn't have any heart left.

"Where are you going?" his counterpart asked, voice shaking.

"To break into Azkaban."

He would not stand another moment in this house. Voldemort was right. He'd spent far too much time wallowing in a life that could never be his. Out on the front steps, he apparated to Hogwarts and marched up the grassy banks.

It was only after he'd snatched his basilisk fang from his desk that he stopped to actually think about what he was doing. He had no idea how he was going to get into Azkaban. All he knew was that it would just leave Nagini and Voldemort.

Nagini, who never left the Dark Lord's side. He would only get one chance at Nagini before Voldemort realised Harry's intentions weren't aligned with his. If he was ever going to get close enough to Nagini, he would need Voldemort to trust him beyond a shadow of a doubt. He would have to be Voldemort's most trusted soldier, loyal to the very last.

He couldn't do that just by finding the Hallows. He needed another plan. A grand gesture.

His alternate parents and his counterpart burst into his room.

"Harry? What's wrong? Why did you leave?" James asked breathlessly.

"I don't have time to play at being a part of your happy little family, James," said Harry. "There's a horcrux in Azkaban, so that's where I'm going."

"On Christmas Day? By yourself?" Lily asked incredulously.

"Why not?" he retorted.

"We're not just going to sit back and let a kid go wandering about in–"

"I am not a child in the same way that Albus Dumbledore is not a well-meaning, doddering old grandfather!"

James scrubbed a hand down his face. "This is something the Order can actually help you with, Harry! Why do you insist on doing everything by yourself? Are you so utterly alone in your world that you had to convince yourself it was a choice?"

Harry scoffed in exasperation. Why were they always fighting him? Why did they have to care so much? His Voldemort was probably watching through their connection right now. Laughing. The repulsion churned in his gut.

"You can't stop me," he said quietly.

Both Lily and James unsheathed their wands. "We can try," Lily replied.

"You may be the Champion of Worlds, but waltzing into that prison alone is suicide," said James. "We won't let you."

Harry stared at his parents.

Then he had a realisation.

The Dark Lord needed to trust him beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"Fine, I won't go to Azkaban," Harry said, glaring at his alternate family. "You can lock me in there instead."

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

There was probably a special place in hell for the man who burned Hogsmeade to the ground.

_It had to be done._

Voldemort will be proud.

Harry paced the cell, back and forth and back again, covered in ash and soot and grit, trying and failing to keep the images of Honeydukes up in flames, people running for their lives, and the Dark Mark he'd cast into the sky out of his mind.

_It had to be done._

He fiddled with the shackles binding his wrists. They were quite possibly the shittiest pair of shackled he'd ever seen. The thin strips of silver metal felt as though they couldn't hold a baby, yet he made no effort to escape them.

_It had to be done._

He wondered anxiously what was taking the Aurors so long. Dumbledore had assured him the Aurors would transfer him straight to Azkaban without trial. They would be quick about it, too, lest some Death Eater managed to piece together a pardon for him before they could.

Although the Ministry was firmly under Voldemort's vicarious rule, the Aurors were the most difficult department to corrupt, and thus it was comprised of mostly noble-minded wizards and witches who fought Death Eaters without realising the Death Eaters held a majority of the positions in the Wizengamot.

Harry was slumped against the steel bench counting the number of stones in the wall when four Aurors finally came for him.

"Mr. Potter, get to your feet. You are to be transferred to Azkaban immediately," said a woman with thin blonde hair and piercing eyes.

Harry raised his eyebrows. None of the Aurors gave any indication they were Marauders in disguise. He was fairly certain James, Sirius, Remus, and Wormtail would have enough decency not to Polyjuice themselves into the opposite gender. That meant the woman was the real deal. What did that mean for the other three? A wiry man in suspenders, a dark-skinned man with a cutthroat expression, and a burly man with a thick beard.

He decided to test the waters.

"Can't it wait an hour?" he asked as the woman unlocked the door. "I had a member of the Wizengamot coming to bust me out."

The woman remained aloof, but the burly man gave a righteous laugh. "I bet you thought you were going to rise straight through Voldemort's ranks with that little stunt, didn't you?" he growled. "Well, if the Dark Lord wants you, he'll have to pull you from a Dementor's stomach himself."

Great.

At least two of them were Aurors. Unease settled in his gut as the four Aurors surrounded him, each placing a hand on his shoulders in preparation to Apparate. The earth twisted away and they landed at the edge of a pier with wind and saltwater whipping at their faces. A small boat was moored in front of them. It looked as though one strong gust would topple it over.

They marched him on board, and were momentarily hurtling across the choppy water. He assumed, as they travelled, that one could not simply apparate into Azkaban. The Anti-Apparation wards were probably the strongest known to wizard-kind, which meant everyone would have to get to and from Azkaban the Muggle way.

The bearded man was steering while the others surrounded Harry with wands drawn and at the ready. He tried to catch the eye of the dark-skinned man or the wiry man. Neither of them afforded him so much as a glance.

A tall, ominous structure loomed at them through the fog, severing the sky. Dread settled in Harry's gut as he stared at the black fortress that was Azkaban. They moored at the edge of the rocky island and marched him into the prison.

The chill was immediately apparent upon stepping inside, sinking into his bones, constricting around his heart. Then came the faint, resonant rattle of the Dementor's breath. Thousands of them, resounding off the walls, accompanied by the cries, the whimpers, the pleas, the screams.

He was suddenly having second thoughts about this entire endeavour.

Maybe he should have let the Order carry out this mission, after all. They could have retrieved the horcrux for him like his loyal lackies, and he could have destroyed it from the comfort of Hogwarts.

What good was it that he was here?

The Aurors, oblivious to his rising anxiety, took him further into the darkness, led by the woman's bear Patronus. He could feel the Dementors waiting in the darkness beyond the bear's blinding glow. They marched up a stone spiral stairwell, past cells with gibbering, whimpering, broken prisoners, until finally the woman stopped in front of an empty cell and ushered him inside.

The woman locked the cell and walked off without a backward glance. Harry watched the other three Aurors follow after her with a sinking feeling. The dark-skinned man cast one look over his shoulder, but did not hesitate. They took the bear Patronus with them.

In the sudden darkness, the Dementor's came, melting through the bars as though they were made of dust. Harry backed away, connecting with the opposite wall. Their rattling breath grated against his skull, and he suddenly became certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'd been left here to die.

_They never cared about you. They never trust you. You were nothing but a weapon._

The chasm in his chest widened. The Cat tore across his back. The Crucio sparked through his veins. He fell to the ground, shuddering from the impossible chill of the Dementor's breath. They hovered above him hungrily. He gritted his teeth and told himself they had no power over him.

_You're stronger than this_.

But he wasn't. Nigel's broken face swamped his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut, but Nigel was still there, waiting for him in the darkness. The boy laughed, blood spurting from his gaping maw. His laughter grew louder and louder, higher and higher, until it was his mother screaming his name.

_Harry! No – please, stop! Harry!_

He would not stop. He sneered down at the mother's foolish attempt to save the boy. They would both die by his hand. The Dark Lord did not make bargains.

An instant later, he was back in his cupboard. He'd been here all along. He'd always been here. In the dark. His only company was the spider in the corner. But the spider had Voldemort's face. It grew and grew, until Harry was trapped in its glistening web, every strand yanking at his limbs like a puppet.

The strands pulled him further and further into the darkness, tighter and tighter. But it wasn't him. His counterpart was trapped in the web, and Harry would devour him, clicking his mandibles hungrily. He would devour all the goodness and all the light, and all his counterpart would ever remember was the emptiness…

A blinding white light penetrated the darkness. He flinched at the horrible screech of the Dementors as they were driven off by a brilliant white stag. His father had come to save him from the darkness.

He'd had this dream before. In his third year.

But it had been a lie. He was the only one who could save his himself.

Someone had him gripped by the shoulders, shaking him urgently. James' face loomed in and out of the darkness. His lips were moving, but Harry stared at him numbly, deafened by the crash of waves. The screams of his mother. The terrible, high-pitched laughter of Lord Voldemort.

James was apologising. Over and over and over.

"Harry? Can you hear me?" he cried. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. It's okay, I'm here. I've got you. I'm so sorry. We had to take care of Williamson and Craigs, but we're here now."

James helped Harry stumble to his feet. He tried to claw himself out of the Dementor's ravages on his mind through sheer force of will, but the cold impression of dread had settled in his gut and clouded his brain. He never should have come here. He had too much of a heart. He pressed a hand against his chest and latched onto the thump, thump, thump.

The Dementors were being held at bay by a stag and a rat, and sure enough, Wormtail stood anxiously just beyond the cell. He and James, thankfully, both looked like themselves, having cancelled the Polyjuice's affects after taking care of Williamson and Craigs.

"What happened to Remus and Sirius?" Harry asked hoarsely.

"We ran into some complications," said James. "Only Peter and I managed to subdue our targets. That of course messed up our plans, which is why we had to leave you here to take care of Craigs and Williamson. Harry – I'm so sorry–"

"Let's just get out of here," Harry said, shaking him away.

"This place is huge," said Wormtail. "I think we'll need to split up and start searching floor by–"

"The horcrux will be in the tallest tower, in the securest cell," said Harry.

"How do you know that?" Wormtail asked.

"Because it's Lord _Fucking_ Voldemort!" he snarled at the rat. "If he could, he'd have a horcrux mounted onto the Queen's crown – or encrusted into the surface of the bloody Moon!"

James unlocked the silver shackles and handed Harry his wand and basilisk fang before they snaked their way through the labyrinth of a prison, guarded by the stag and the rat, climbing a seemingly infinite amount of stairs until finally they reached the tallest tower.

It had just one prisoner.

The room was perfectly circular, with the cell in the centre, protected by thick metal bars and a layer of wards. Bellatrix Lestrange coswered against the bars with a Dementor hovering over her, shaking and tremoring violently.

At their arrival, she lurched to her feet with a cry of triumph. She swayed and stumbled, grinning at them with pure glee in her sunken, sallow eyes. She was cradling a silver sceptre encrusted with emerald jewels.

"Visitors for the Guardian Mistress!" she cried. "What a pleasant day in history today it is on this fine sunny morning today!"

She tripped over her own feet deliriously, but never lost her iron grip on the sceptre.

"I don't understand," Harry said to James. "I thought Bellatrix was Voldemort's most loyal follower."

"She is," James said. "Apparently Voldemort decided to utilise that unquenchable loyalty by having her guard his most precious possession in the foulest place on earth."

Bellatrix's eyes widened. "You've come for the sceptre you've come for!?" she howled. She thrust an imaginary wand at them defiantly. "You will never lay your hands on the Dark Lord's precious while I am still alive you'll never lay your hands! Yah!"

She arched her wrist dramatically, clearly intending to cast a spell with her imaginary wand. Nothing happened.

Harry did not have the emotional capacity to feel any sympathy for the delusional witch. He had a horcrux to destroy. He stepped up to the ward and raised his hands. It began to sizzle and crackle in protest as he sorted through the magic.

"Jailbreakers, drop your wands!"

The shout came from behind them. James and Wormtail clearly had not done enough to subdue Williamson and Craigs. The two Aurors stood in the doorway with their wands raised.

James swore. He and Wormtail were forced to cancel their Patroni to attack. The Dementor's cold chill immediately settled back over them. Harry tried to shake it off and focus on the wards. Bellatrix was cackling and taunting him from the other side, swinging the sceptre madly and batting the Dementor away like a gnat.

The Dementor turned, instead, to Harry.

Harry tried to ignore it. He struggled to keep hold of the wards as the icy chill froze his insides. Lily's scream rang in his ears.

"James!" Harry cried.

But James was too occupied with the Aurors to help.

His hands trembled. He breath caught in his chest. He growled in frustration, but there was no use. He let go of the wards. They snapped back into place with a sizzling burst. He faced the Dementor, gazed right into its gaping mouth, its hollow eyes, and raised his wand.

He thought of his parents. He thought of sitting by the fireside, listening to James' stories. He focused on that fleeting impression of safety. Of warmth. Of home.

"Expecto Patronum!" he shouted, blocking out the visions of torture with the faces of his parents.

Nothing happened.

_Lily – take Harry. Take him and run!_

He cried out in frustration, backing away and raising his wand higher. He thought of Lily's flaming red hair. Her green, green, eyes. James's rascally grin.

He thought of Prongs saving him from the darkness.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he bellowed.

Not even a whisper of whiteness emanated from his wand. He was too far gone. The nine whips of the Cat ghosted across his shoulder blades. He cried out, body convulsing, and keeled over. He was a monster! Beyond recognition. Beyond redemption. He was a dragon, a beast, doomed to suffer, to serve, to solitude.

Wormtail hoisted him to his feet, jarring him back into the present. His rat Patronus chased the Dementor away.

"Get up!" he shouted. "Get through the wards so we can get out of here!"

Harry bristled.

_Wormtail._

This was all his fault. All the pain. Everything he'd endured was because of this miserable rat. He snarled, animalistic, and sent the rat-faced bastard hurtling across the room with a roar of fury.

He turned to the ward, blood pounding in his ears, and tore his way through. He wrenched the sceptre from Bellatrix's grip and shoved her to the ground, ignoring her maddened ravings. He set the sceptre on the floor and lifted the fang.

In the flash of an instant, in the barest blink of an eye, the world became a chaotic mess of soot and rubble and smoke. The explosion shook the ground like thunder. Harry was blasted onto his back by an onslaught of brick and mortar.

For a moment he was sure he was dead. The world felt impossibly quiet, impossibly still. But then the ringing in his ears became louder and louder, and the smoke began to clear, revealing a gaping hole that had been gouged out of the side of the tower.

Stood in the chasm, silhouetted by the tumultuous, swirling clouds beyond, was Lord Voldemort, red eyes gleaming through the clouds of soot. He was the expression of anarchic triumph. But as his slitted eyes surveyed Harry, crouched there in the dust, sceptre in one hand, fang in the other, his expression twisted.

His pupils contracted. His eyes widened. His brows shot up. His mouth opened into a cavernous hole reminiscent of a Dementor's.

Harry had never seen the Dark Lord surprised before.

His surprised was quickly replaced by a flash of irreconcilable fury.

There was no going back. There was no convincing Voldemort of his allegiances now. Harry stared down at the sceptre. This was the only chance he'd ever get.

He plunged the fang into the sceptre. The Dark Lord screamed. The floor quaked. He stepped through the gouge and advanced on Harry in a terrific blaze of raw, unhinged rage. Harry stood his ground, digging the fang deeper into the sputtering sceptre. He had to be sure all the life bled from it. Voldemort raised his wand. Harry steeled himself.

A shadow fell across him. Someone had stepped protectively in front of Harry.

_Wormtail._

The piece-of-scum traitorous rat raised his wand defiantly against the Dark Lord. Harry gaped at him. Was this truly Wormtail? Peter Pettigrew? Standing up for him? Demonstrating a shred of bravery?

Voldemort cast Peter aside like a stray hair.

He seized Harry with a scream of bloody murder. Harry dropped the fang and the sceptre and retaliated desperately with a burst of magic, but the Dark Lord was too powerful, too consumed by his own fury. The last thing Harry heard was James' horrified cry before the world spun away.

* * *

So i think the last chapter was quite misleading. Voldy wasn't here to stay unfortunately. I'm not quite ready to open that particular can of worms, but never fear, Voldemort will be back to ruin everyone's day soon enough.


	20. Too Much Heart

**Chapter 19: Too Much Heart**

• − ○ ◊ Lily ◊ ○ − •

Lily sat, immobile, in the chair opposite Professor Dumbledore's desk while James paced feverishly back and forth. Professor Dumbledore had his fingers clasped before his desk in grim deliberation, while Mad-Eye Moody stood still like a sentry by the door.

James' recount of the heist hung in the air like a fetid smell.

All Lily could think was that her research had been for nothing.

He was gone, just as suddenly as he'd arrived. He'd been helping her pull weeds from the garden not two days ago. What had any of this been for? What had they done? She wanted to run to her office and set all the research, all the rune sketches, all the ritual designs on fire and burn them out of existence, but she couldn't move.

He was gone.

The door burst open. Her original son barged in with Daphne two steps behind.

"We've got to rescue him," Harry said. "I'm sick of all your excuses. You're the Order of the Phoenix, so get him back!"

The four adults turned to Harry with helplessness in their eyes.

"Mr. Potter, the Dark Lord witnessed your counterpart destroy a horcrux," Professor Dumbledore said slowly.

"He's dead!" James cried. He pounded his fist against the desk and jabbed a finger at Professor Dumbledore. "He's dead because of _you_. _You_ dragged him into this. This is entirely _your_ fault."

Professor Dumbledore pressed his lips together but did not object.

"He's not dead. He can't die, he's got a–" Harry began, but the Liplocker Oath prevented him from continuing. He growled in frustration and said slowly, "My counterpart isn't dead. I _know_ he's not dead, but I can't tell you why, or how I know."

James frowned at Harry. "What are you talking about? Why can't you tell us?"

"I just… I know…"

"Harry told us everything about his universe," Daphne interrupted impatiently. "But only after we took Liplocker Oaths. We know everything, which is why you have to trust us when we say there is no _possible_ way Voldemort has managed to kill him yet."

James cast a dubious eye between Daphne and Harry. "He told you? You knew? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Like she said, Liplocker Oaths," Harry said apologetically. "And that's not the point. He's alive, so we all need to get up, prove we're fighting for the cause and rescue him!"

"We don't owe him anything," Mad-Eye growled from the doorway. "Everything we've learnt about this boy has been suspicious. James just told us he couldn't cast a Patronus–"

"Of course he can't cast a Patronus!" Daphne snapped. "What part of his bright and sunny disposition gave you that idea?"

"Don't give me cheek, Greengrass. His fate is unfortunate, but that boy was summoned here so he could risk his life instead of us – and don't fool yourself into thinking otherwise. Now, if we risk our lives trying to save him, well that's defeating the whole purpose of bringing him here, isn't it?"

"How dare you," James hissed. "That boy – my _son_ – became one of us the moment he stepped foot in this world. We're not just going to leave him at the Dark Lord's mercy. Harry's right. If something can be done, we're going to do it."

"And therein lies our difficulty," Professor Dumbledore spoke up. "While it is valiant of you all to want to save the boy, we don't know where he is, and we certainly don't have a way to find him. The Dark Lord has gotten him and there's not all much we can do about the matter, regardless of whether we'd like to or not."

"That's where you're wrong, Professor," Daphne spoke up, grinning slightly. "The only reason you let me into this school is because of my father's weapons. I say it's about time we put one in particular to good use."

• − ○ ◊ James ◊ ○ − •

_Lord Voldemort is powerful not only for his ability to wield magic but for his unflinching willingness to inflict pain. That's what keeps his Death Eater's in check. That's what prevents the everyday wizard from standing up to him._

_If Voldemort has Harry, you can bet that willingness for pain is coming out in full form as we speak._

_But physical pain is only a small part of it. Voldemort knows that a much more potent, influential form of pain is the kind that comes from emotion. From the loss of loved ones, from seeing them in pain, and from the overwhelming desire to protect them._

_If Voldemort has Harry, he'll be coming for you as well._

Daphne's words echoed in James' ears as he paced through Potter Manor, fiddling anxiously with his Two-Way Mirror. He could hear thumps coming from upstairs where Holly and Harry were hurriedly collecting the treasured items they couldn't live without from their rooms.

He stopped when he came to the living room. Lily stood by the mantle, impatiently drumming her fingers against the mantle. She cast James a quiet, apprehensive look.

"You should go, too," James said from the doorway.

Lily glared at him. "We do this together, or not at all."

James didn't argue. Instead, he lifted the Two-Way Mirror and found Remus' face already reflected into the glass.

"Okay, Moony. When Harry and Holly are gone, you can tip off the Death Eaters," James said.

Remus gave him a disparaging look. "Prongs, this is without doubt the stupidest, most brazenly asinine train-wreck of a scheme you have ever had the sheer audacity to devise."

James smiled weakly. "Don't blame me. Greengrass came up with it."

From outside James suddenly heard a myriad of popping sounds. People Apparating. His blood ran cold.

"I told you to wait! The kids are still here!" James hissed at Remus.

"What – I haven't told them yet."

"Then who did?"

"James. Get your family out of there now."

Lily moved to the bottom of the stairs. "HARRY! HOLLY! GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"

Holly and Harry came thumping irritably down, bundling precious keepsakes in their arms. "Can't we just ask the nice Death Eaters to pretty please not burn down our home?" Harry asked.

"Get in the fireplace. _Now_!" Lily cried, hurriedly pushing them to the fireplace.

From outside, Death Eaters were shouting to each other. They could practically feel the heavy tread of footsteps as they surrounded the house. Spells were being cast, assaulting the protective wards James had only half-heartedly created. With a crackling sizzle, the wards were torn aside like cobwebs. Their orders rang through the air. _Surround the house._ _Take only prisoners. Destroy the fireplace._

Lily heaped Floo Powder in Holly and Harry's hands.

"NO!" James cried. He pulled the three of them away just as the fireplace was blasted from the wall in a deafening explosion of brick and debris. James couldn't afford to wait for the dust to clear or for his ears to stop ringing. Their plan had gone utterly wrong before it had even begun.

"Harry – Holly – stay hidden," he ordered, clambering to his feet. Lily rose with him and the two of them charged through the chasm where once their fireplace had been.

Severus Snape sneered disdainfully at James, leading the charge of twenty Death Eaters. "Is this how you plan to protect your dear _wife_, Potter?"

"His _wife_ can hold her own, thanks," Lily retorted, raising her wand higher.

"Indeed."

Lily glared at Snape. How she loathed how he treated her, like a flower that could do no harm and in turn could not be harmed.

"How did you find us?" James demanded.

Snape's gaze never left Lily's. "Petunia was very helpful."

Lily went red in the face. "What did you do to my sister?" she demanded, starting forward, ready to curse Snape into the next realm, but James latched onto her arm to stop her.

"Your filthy sister is fine. All I had to do was show up and she told me all I needed to know."

Lily wrenched her arm free of James' grip, glaring at Snape. "So this is what it's come to, Severus? You're going to kill me and my family for that despicable snake-faced monster?"

Snape's black eyes surveyed her. "Take Potter alone. Leave the others," he commanded, voice dropping.

"Those were not the Dark Lord's orders," Crabbe Snr snarled from behind him.

Snape withered. "Very well. _Sectumsempra!"_

James ducked the spell while Lily retaliated, and the two of them fought side by side, knowing they had no choice but to lose.

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Now _these_ were a pair of shackles.

Thick and black. Cold and heavy. Nothing like the Ministry's silver manacles.

Harry glared at the stone wall at the far end of the dungeon, arms suspended above his head in a metal frame, gag pinching at the corners of his mouth, waiting in the semi-darkness for the Dark Lord's wrath.

He supposed that it was right here that he'd always belonged.

This was the moment when he would tell himself that the waiting was the worst part. The eternal suspense. There was nothing worse than waiting for the axe to fall. But he was lying to himself.

He would realise that fact when the axe finally fell.

He strained against the shackles. They held tight. He tried to remain calm and aloof, but couldn't keep from shifting restlessly and every now and then thrashing against the binds.

Finally, the Dark Lord graced Harry with his presence, ever poised and dignified. Harry wondered how long he had been in the dungeon. How long it had taken for the Dark Lord to get enough of a grip on his fury to face Harry rationally.

Voldemort stared coldly at Harry, then paced a large, slow circle around him, restrained there in that metal frame. Harry went still, refusing to show even a hint of fear. Voldemort stopped in front of him, far too close for comfort.

"Champion of Worlds, are you afraid of me?" he hissed, hateful eyes glinting. Harry glared at him and the Dark Lord said with mock curiosity, "Perhaps you aren't."

Voldemort lifted a skeletal hand and pressed it flat against Harry's chest. They could both feel the thump, thump, thump beneath his ribs. Voldemort grinned.

"But your heart betrays you. And your heart will betray you again before this night is through."

Voldemort withdrew and began to circle him again. Harry kept his eyes pinned on the stone wall.

"I must say, I am thoroughly disappointed at what you've turned out to be," Voldemort said as he walked. "I went to Azkaban intending to free a loyal soldier. Oh, how I would have rewarded you for laying waste to those fools who reside in Hogsmeade. I realise, now, that it was just a rouse. It was all a rouse."

Voldemort paused in his pacing to glare at Harry. "You deserve nothing but death, and I will give it to you eventually, but first, I want to know. Who are you?"

Harry could feel the Dark Lord prodding at the edges of his mind, but to no avail. The Dark Lord in Harry's head was keeping him out.

"Show me everything, Champion of Worlds! How can you be a Parselmouth? What is the meaning of that shackle? And the cursed scar on your forehead? Tell me!"

Harry grunted from the force of the Dark Lord's assault, but his mind was a fortress. He bit down on the restraint and tried to give Voldemort an insolent grin, forcing a muffled, huff of a laugh to go with it.

The laugh morphed into a scream when the Cruciatus Curse tore through him. The moment he resurfaced from the spell's unending torment the Dark Lord was assaulting his mind once again. Voldemort growled, straining at the effort of assaulting Harry's apparently impenetrable Occlumency shields.

Voldemort released him with a cry of fury. "You will show me every second of your miserable life, Champion of Worlds, or the rest of it will be _truly_ wretched!"

Voldemort flicked his wrist, and a ward Harry had completely failed to notice fell. It had divided the cell in half, and beyond it were four masked Death Eaters holding a prisoner each. James, Lily, Holly, and his counterpart. All forced to kneel with wands pressed to their necks. All four of them were thrashing against their captors, mouths moving with no sound coming out.

Lily was bleeding heavily from a gash along her temple. A river of blood trailed down the side of her face and onto her shoulder. She locked eyes with him and took three deep, deliberate breaths, as though reassuring him that everything would be okay. But it wouldn't.

His heart would betray him.

That's what Voldemort had said. His foolish, bleeding heart. He broke Lily's gaze. He couldn't look at them. Not like this. His stomach twisted, making him feel nauseous. What were they doing here? It didn't make sense. His scar seared hot.

"I'm sure you can guess where I'm going with this, Champion of Worlds, so why don't we move right along to the part where you show me your memories in order to save your precious little family?"

Voldemort attacked his mind once again, and Harry wanted to. He desperately wanted to give in and released every damned second of his life, every impression of mind, every fleeting thought he'd ever had, but the Dark Lord in the back of his brain wouldn't let him.

_Just let him see it! Let him see everything,_ he cried out to the void in his head, but he scar only flared hotter.

"Let go!" Voldemort snarled.

_I can't_, Harry wanted to scream. _It's not up to me. It's up to the crazy Dark Lord in my head._

Finally, Voldemort relented and gave a vicious smile. "Alright, Champion of Worlds. Let us have some fun."

He lifted his wand and transfigured a thin, elegant whip. Harry raised his eyebrows challengingly. He could take that. Voldemort didn't realise he was dealing with a boy who'd been reared by The Cat.

But Voldemort turned instead to the Potters, and Harry cried out in objection. Trailing the whip behind him, Voldemort walked predatorially past James, past Lily, past his counterpart, and stopped in front of Holly.

Harry was screaming through the restraint.

Voldemort seized Holly, frozen with fear, and pulled her to her feet while every other Potter thrashed against their restraints.

Voldemort offered her the whip.

"Twenty lashes for the Champion of Worlds," he hissed, voice like velvet, "Or I'll kill your entire family."

Holly's eyes widened. The beast in Harry's gut snarled. She was just a kid! The Dark Lord was truly a master of torture. This went far beyond the physical. This was pure emotional turmoil. Holly dazedly shook her head.

Voldemort gave her a reassuring, serpentine smile. "Go on."

Holly seized the whip, hands tremoring. She stared down at the whip and swallowed thickly. Her eyes roved to meet his. He locked eyes and took three slow, deliberate breaths, as Lily had done, and as he did, Holly eye's hardened with determination. She looked at her family, she glared at Voldemort, and then moved toward Harry.

Harry glowered at Voldemort, refusing to even twitch as each lash sliced thin strips through his robes.

"Do you not care for your traumatised sister?" Voldemort asked as he pried at Harry's mind.

"Screw you, Snake Face!" Holly cried, stepping past Harry and raising the whip. Harry couldn't keep his heart from soaring with pride. She brought the whip down against the Dark Lord, but he sent it spinning wildly from her hand and hurled her likewise into the arms of her captor with an enraged snarl.

"Alright, Champion of Worlds. I had hoped not to resort to this," he said. He pointed his wand square between Harry's mind. "Brace yourself. This may be the last sane thought you ever have. I will see your memories one way or another!"

A burgundy spell erupted from his wand and engulfed Harry. Suddenly there was nothing to stop his mind from unfurling. His memories were sucked out of him along with the magic inside him, against his will for all to see, his Occlumency torn to shreds.

A flash of green, an he was back in his cupboard. He was cooking breakfast for the Dursleys, running from Dudley's fists on the way to school, hiding from the teachers who asked too many questions. He relived his entire childhood of washing dishes and working the garden and watching the love piled onto Dudley from afar in a flash of pictures and voices until Hogwarts letters were flooding through the mail slot and the fireplace and the windows.

He relived again the confusion and wonder of Hagrid's visit, the fantasy of Diagon Alley, and finally the pure sense of _coming home_ he'd felt upon witnessing Hogwarts for the first time. Meeting Ron, arguing with Malfoy, fighting Trolls, playing Quidditch. All of it flicked by, followed by the uneasiness of second year, hearing voices, being accused of being the Heir of Slytherin, saving Ginny from a basilisk.

Third year came and went, followed by Voldemort's return to Hogwarts. Scenes of Hogwarts in ruins filled his mind, and the scenes became of Gaunt Camp. Slaving, training, fighting. The frustration, the humiliation, the indignation. The torture.

He relieved it all in the space of an instant. His magical core was enlarged, his soul was torn to shreds. And suddenly he was summoned to another world, meeting his dead parents, hunting horcruxes, fending off his family's concerned advances, shaking underneath the Dementor's rattling breath, plunging a basilisk fang in the sceptre–

The curse snapped off. Harry gasped and slumped against the restraints, confusion overwhelming him. Where… where was he? In his cupboard? No… He must be in the Straps, about to pay for an uprising he'd started. He sucked in several broken breaths, his body feeling impossibly heavy. A high-pitched laughter reverberated around his head.

The Dark Lord was cackling, standing in front of his family who were breathing heavily with quiet, harrowed expressions.

The world suddenly snapped back into place. The curse had sucked not only his memories but his magical core right out of him. Voldemort had seen everything, and so had his family.

His stomach dropped. The beast roared, drowning out the Dark Lord's laughter. Harry howled.

His family knew _everything_.

Despite his exhaustion he thrashed and struggled and wrenched until he tore the shackles from their hinges, tore the gag off and lunged at Voldemort with an animalistic shout, chains trailing after him. Voldemort twisted around, sent him plummeting to the floor and pinned him there. Harry struggled relentlessly, but he didn't have the strength to fight it.

Voldemort transfigured another whip, and Harry was given the barest instant for his stomach to drop before the nine agonising tails of the Cat stroked against his backside. Once – twice – five times, all at once. The scream burst from his lungs. His back lit on fire, throbbing in waves.

"A soldier of the Dark Lord," Voldemort hissed, voice dripping with relish. "This is far beyond anything I could have imagined… I almost wish I'd had the idea myself. Call me by my proper title, Harry, the one specifically reserved for my alternate self."

Harry pressed his forehead against the cold stone ground and gritted his teeth. "_Fuck you_," he spat at the floor.

Voldemort laughed, and the Cat struck again. Harry convulsed and couldn't contain a snarl of pain. Voldemort tossed the Cat to the floor in front of him, slick with blood, and turned to the Potters. All four of them were struggling against their captors, howling in silent, Silencio'd fury.

"Your Champion of Worlds… the one you summoned as the only being who could defeat me… is in turn my loyal servant, my unwilling soldier. The irony is positively overwhelming."

Harry tried to get off the floor, but only managed to prop himself onto his elbows, overwhelmed by the sharp waves of pain. He couldn't keep his breath from hitching at every inhale. The black haze of unconsciousness crept along his vision. How he wished it would take him.

Voldemort had won. Just like he'd won in Harry's universe. Voldemort was _Master_ no matter what world he was in. He'd been an idiot to think he could change that.

Voldemort kneeled in front of him. "The existence of your horcrux is unfortunate, Potter. It complicates our plans for tonight. Never mind, if I can't kill you slowly, then perhaps I'll keep you as a pet for my Death Eaters – a perpetual punching bad, if you will, or I'll bury you alive, and you can spend eternity in a cold wooden box. I'm sure we'll find something fitting."

Harry glowered at Voldemort, he smirked in the wake of Harry's loathsome silence. His tortured silence. Voldemort stood, and Harry just sank back to the floor, brain clouded with pain.

Voldemort eyed the Potters. "But I'm getting ahead of myself. Come, my Death Eaters. Let us contemplate what we have learned, and deice how best to plan out the rest of Harry Potter's life."

The Death Eaters threw their charges to the ground and followed after Voldemort, closing the steel-barred door with a resounding clang in their wake.

"Bloody savages!" James hollered hoarsely.

He and Lily sprang forth to Harry. Lily knelt tenderly in front of him, wiping the sweat from his face, pushing the hair out of his eyes, while James crouched beside him and tore the blood-soaked tatters of his robes from his back.

Harry flinched hard. "_W-What are you doing here?_" he bit out. "_Why are you here? You c-can't die! You're not – supposed to–"_

Lily suddenly embraced him, awkwardly cradling his head in her lap so as not to brush against the welts shredded across his shoulders.

"It's okay," she said, voice ringing so quietly he felt as though he was dreaming it. "We're going to get you out of here. We have a plan. _I love you so much._"

He closed his eyes and convinced himself his brain was just taunting him with impossible suggestions. He did his best to keep from shuddering while James inexpertly attempted to heal his wounds using wandless magic. Harry wanted to tell him not to bother, that Voldemort would doubtless be adding to them soon enough.

"_Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur_. Sorry, Harry, I'm not much of a wizard without my wand," James said.

"Dad, what exactly is your big plan to get out of here?" his counterpart asked. He and Holly crouched nervously beside them.

James smiled. He scratched at his ear. It took Harry a moment to realise he was _digging around_ in his ear. He pulled out a tiny stone. Even in the darkness it glittered colourfully, with tiny, complicated runes engraved into its surface.

"_What – the hell – is that?"_ Harry rasped.

"This, my dear boy, is an extremely rare stone wrought from phoenix feathers, dragon heartstrings, and unicorn hairs. It's our ticket out of here, as sponsored by your darling girlfriend."

"That was in your _ear_?" Holly asked with disgust.

"Yep," James said proudly. "They never think to search the ear canal."

"That's disgusting."

"Would you have preferred I stick it up my bum?"

"When it's activated, it'll create a sort of dead zone where nothing magical will be able to exist within a twenty-metre radius. All curses, all wards, everything will be naught."

"What about the Death Eaters?" asked his counterpart.

"We'll have to take care of them with some good old-fashioned magical combat," James said. "Harry, can you stand?"

Harry could only manage a withering look. "Go. Leave me."

"Sorry, Harry, but that's not part of the plan," said Lily. "James, Harry, you two help him. Holly, you and I will cover them."

She jumped to her feet, and they followed suit. James and his counterpart helped Harry gingerly to his feet. He grimaced, barely able to stand the weight of his own two feet.

James blew softly on the stone, whispered something, and threw it against the ground. In shattered and immediately whipped up a storm of a strange white force that burst outward and blanketed every surface.

Harry's forearms lit up with pain. He gasped, and watched in disbelief as the Dark Mark tattooed into his skin evaporated, and the runes, previously a violent red against his skin, fade into nothing. The shackle burnt hot and _cracked_. It fell from his wrist and clanked against the ground. Harry ran shaking fingers across the pale skin where the shackle had been, and gave a disbelieving, desperate laugh.

"Harry, come on!" James urged. He and his counterpart ushered him deliriously through the door, which had popped open to allow them through. Lily and Holly jogged ahead as they half stumbled down a long, dank dungeon corridor to a set of spiral stairs.

With an arm each slung over James and his counterpart's shoulders, they ascended the stairs into a one-room cottage. Outside, the sun had just slipped below a heavy wooded forest. Voldemort must have taken them to one of his Death Eaters' hideouts where they would assuredly be untraceable.

Outside, two Death Eaters were stood around a crackling campfire. Lily motioned for them to hide in wait and crept to the window. She opened it slowly, cringing at each squeak of its rusted hinges. The Death Eaters were sat in silence, both cradling a bottle of Firewhiskey, but did not notice the squeaking. Lily stuck her hands through the window, concentrating immensely.

"_Stupefy! Stupefy_!"

The first Death Eater fell without a hitch, but the second gave a shout of surprise and withdrew his wand. Lily ducked beneath the windowsill.

"Alright, the games up!" the Death Eater shouted. He pressed his wand to his forearm.

"Time to run," James cried.

The five of them burst through the door, James and his counterpart desperately urging Harry on as he tripped and stumbled in a desperate attempt to keep up. Lily sent another stunner at the Death Eater. This one found its mark and the Death Eater dropped, but not before pops filled the air and a dozen more Death Eaters appeared.

But it was dark, and the woods were thick. The Potters kept low as they darted through the foliage, and they were almost invisible. But not invisible enough. Curses whizzed over their heads.

"Why aren't we Apparating?" his counterpart cried breathlessly.

"The Anti-Apparation wards are stretching forever," James panted. "The Muggle Stone's explosion wasn't large enough to disable it."

Harry's foot snagged on something and he went sprawling into the undergrowth. The Potters were forced to ground to a sharp halt as James hurriedly helped him back to his feet.

"James, use Prongs. Take Harry and go," Lily said, casting anxious glances behind them.

"No! We stay together," James said firmly.

"Then what do we do?" his counterpart asked, jumping feverishly from foot to foot.

James suddenly went very quiet and eyed Harry thoughtfully.

"What?" Harry asked defensively.

James gripped him by the shoulders, eyes bright with a new idea. "You know what you are, Harry? You're not a monster, of a soldier, or a dark wizard, of a Champion of Worlds, or any of that. You know what you are? You're a _dragon_."

Harry immediately understood where James was going with this.

"No – I can't."

"It doesn't take much. Changing is the hardest part, then you'll have all the strength of a dragon! A dragon who is loyal, and brave, and free," James said, gazing fiercely at Harry. "You're a survivor, Harry. You endure, and you are stronger for what you have endured. You should never be ashamed of who you are. Be a _dragon_!"

Harry stared at James. He never thought he'd be able to look his father in the eye if he learnt the truth about where he'd come from, but James didn't look at him with anger, or fear, or shame. He saw acceptance, and faith, and respect. James knew every terrible thing he'd ever done, and hadn't given up on him.

"A dragon doesn't call _anyone_ 'Master'," James growled.

That set the fire in Harry's bones. He stared down at his forearms, free of runes, free of the Dark Mark, free of shackles. The familiar beast in his chest roared with vindication. For once, Harry didn't squash it down. He roared with it, and the beast grew. Its fiery breath filled his lungs, its metallic scales slid across his skin. He closed his eyes and let the beast engulf him, transform him, and _become_ _him_.

When he opened his eyes, the world looked different. The night was not blanketed in a golden haze. His anatomy had changed as well. He no longer had a magical core. The magical exhaustion that had plagued him a moment ago was gone.

A strange sense of stillness and inner peace came over him. All the fury and humiliation that had been brewing an ugly turmoil inside him had gone cold and hard. His mind was clear.

He turned to the Death Eaters rushing through the foliage. He was ready for them. A fire was brewing in his chest. He was going to wreak his revenge in a manner that was only fit for a dragon.

* * *

Okay, bit of a dark chapter. I promise this is as dark as it's going to get. Harry's on the upswing now.


	21. Quiet Ferocity

**Chapter 20: Quiet Ferocity**

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Something hot was brewing inside his chest.

"Hold on tight!" he heard James yell. "We're riding a dragon who's learning to fly for the first time."

He flexed his wings experimentally. He could feel the strength of the muscles and tendons beneath his scales. He crouched low, prayed his alternate family were holding on tight, then reared onto his haunches and pushed off with all the force he could muster.

He sprang easily into the air. Shouts of alarm arose from the surrounding bush. He bashed through the dense foliage, twigs and branches whipping at his iron scales. The weight of his passengers felt heavy and unnatural against his shoulder blades. Even with his counterpart in his Animagus form, three humans and a monkey were a heavy burden.

He burst through the canopy into the still night air with Death Eaters shouting up at him from below. Curses whizzed past him. He glimpsed the Death Eaters amongst the heavy trees, scuttling about like ants.

He manoeuvred expertly in the air and swooped back down toward the canopy.

He wasn't learning to fly. He'd been flying since he was a year old.

He opened his jaws and unleashed a breath of rage and resentment that had been brewing within him from the moment the Cat had first struck. The forest exploded in a shock of orange flames, leaving a fiery trail in his wake. Screams wafted through the deafening crackles and pops of the Death Eaters rose above the canopy on broomsticks, their silver masks reflecting the moonlight hauntingly.

Harry welcomed them.

They peeled off in four different directions, darting about him like gnats. He snarled and unleashed another fiery breath. They evaded him easily. He twisted and contorted in the air, snapping and snarling. They were nimble, darting in and out of reach. A curse struck his leg. It dug in and exploded like a firecracker, shooting bolts of pain through his muscles. He screeched, animalistic, and tore after the offending Death Eater.

His passengers were shouting, but he couldn't discern their words. His mind was a storm, a frenzied cacophony, with a single-minded hunger to destroy. The Death Eaters' curses came too quick to dodge. He was too large to manoeuvre out of their path. He surged upward, higher and higher, ascending far enough above the Death Eaters that they hesitated to follow.

In the air he found a brief moment of respite. His passengers were whooping and yelling – or shrieking – he wasn't sure. He couldn't spare a thought for them just yet. There was still a wild force brewing inside him, something he could not contain.

He dove downward once again and released his fiery breath, leaving the forest in a carnage in his wake. Black smoke billowed heavily into the once clear night sky. Below him the world writhed and flickered and crackled as though it were alive.

The Death Eaters had disappeared. Good.

He turned to the cottage with visions of reducing it to nothing more than blackened ruins, but a figure had risen menacingly above it. Shrouded in smoke, the Dark Lord hovered in the air, his piercing red eyes glaring at Harry across the expanse. He returned Voldemort's gaze with vehemence. Fire instinctively flared in the back of his throat like a dog salivating for fresh meat.

"I am impressed, Potter. Truly, I am," Voldemort's amplified voice echoed across the expanse. "I can see what tempted my alternate self into holding you close. I will not make his mistakes. You may be closer to immortal than even myself, but I can still rip you from your flesh. I can tear you from your bones and condemn you to a life of incorporeal damnation."

He slowly raised his wand as he spoke, beckoning. Harry growled. Smoke poured from his nostrils. This could all end now. The shouts of his alternate family were just white noise to his ears. He careened toward the Dark Lord, hungry and insensible. He had felt the Dark Lord's wrath – now the Dark Lord would feel his. Voldemort raised his wand – Dumbledore's wand – high above his head with an air of pure, exhilarated anticipation.

"_Avada KedavraI!_

Harry careened out of the curse's path, never hesitating in his pursuit. Voldemort curse, however, fizzled out rather anticlimactically before it could reach him. Voldemort snarled with annoyance and released a flurry of curses, but it was clear they were lacking a certain _oomph_.

The Elder Wand was underperforming.

Vindication surged through him. Even after Voldemort had seen all of Harry's memories, the Dark Lord didn't realise the wands' loyalties didn't belong to him. Harry was almost upon the him. Red hot fire scorched his throat. Death Eaters were waiting on the ground below them. He didn't care. He didn't care what curses barrelled into him, he just wanted to see that miserable monster _burn_.

A shout he couldn't ignore suddenly reverberated through his head.

"_Harry James Potter," Lily's voice hissed. "In the name of all that is magical, _stop!_ You're going to get us all killed unless you turn around _right now!_"_

That made him pause. He'd quite forgotten about the family clinging to his back. But everything inside him itched to see his intentions through. He couldn't turn away now.

"_He's not mortal, Harry. This will achieve nothing._ _Son, we need to get home_," came James' voice, firm and calm in his ear.

He growled with displeasure, but the fire died in his throat. The weight of his alternate family was suddenly heavy against his shoulders. They were supposed to be fleeing. What was he doing?

Just like that, the desire to protect suddenly far outweighed the desire to destroy. He twisted in the air, flying like a dart in the opposite direction of the Dark Lord.

"You dare…" Voldemort's voice followed him, echoing across the trees. "Will you not face me like the beast you are, instead of cowering with your tail between your legs? I'm coming for you, Potter, and your family too. It's time you fools at Hogwarts met your fate!"

Harry ignored him, and strangely, they were not pursued. He beat his wings as hard as he could all the same, suddenly gripped by fear. He had to get his family home. He had to get them to safety. He would never forgive himself if they were hurt. This was all his fault.

At last, he felt himself pass through the Anti-Apparation wards. He sank lower and found a clearing between the trees where he thumped inexpertly back onto solid ground. His family was all too eager to clamber off him, looking pale and flustered.

He let go of his Animagus form and became human once more. The moment his anatomy included a magical core again, the exhaustion hit him all at once. He dropped to his knees, then his hands, then sank bodily against the ground, moaning. Unconsciousness swam along the edges of his vision and he fought to stay awake, cursing his body for giving up on him so miserably.

James seized his shoulder, and a nauseating flash later, they were back on the grassy lawns of Hogwarts. Harry groaned, staring up at a dazzling sky and gasping for breath.

"You're okay, Harry, you're okay," James said, sinking beside him. "Sorry, I should have warned you about the transformation back into a human. It can be a bit of a shock to the system. _Plumalucem!_"

James knelt beside him and put one arm beneath Harry knees and the other beneath his shoulder blades. It took Harry a moment to figure out what he was doing.

"No – don't–" he rasped, but it was too late. He was already being hoisted into his father's arms with all the ease of James' Featherlight Charm.

He stared wearily up at his father's conspiratorial grin – a grin that knew Harry would under no circumstances have allowed this kind of treatment if he'd had any power to stop it.

"You're okay, son. I got you."

Harry suddenly realised that his family hadn't been captured by accident. They had risked everything to save him, and he drifted into the darkness with that thought nagging at the back of his mind.

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

The first thing Harry became aware of when wakefulness returned was that someone was stroking his hair. Gentle fingers brushed through his hair in soft, even caresses. He was lying on his stomach with his face mashed up against a pillow. He tried to force his eyes open, but the onslaught of brightness made his head immediately begin to pound. He groaned and screwed his eyes shut again.

The fingers stroking his hair stilled. "Harry?"

He mumbled something unintelligible and struggled to roll onto his back, unable to believe how utterly exhausted he was. His limbs felt as though they were made of lead. It was an effort to keep his eyes open. Everything ached, right down to the bones.

But the mattress was soft. It might have been the most comfortable bed he'd ever laid in, and he decided to be thankful. Lily and James were sat either side of him, still covered in blood and grit. A light morning glow was filtering into the Hogwarts Infirmary, and the two looked very out of place in the tranquil setting.

"How are you feeling?" James asked. He was looking at Harry with such concern. It did something funny to his insides.

"Tired," he mumbled.

"That's to be expected. To say you overexerted yourself last night would be an understatement."

And just like that, last night came flooding back to him and his stomach twisted with horror.

They knew everything.

_Everything._

Visions of himself kneeling before Voldemort, killing for Voldemort, having his soul torn apart by Voldemort – the man who murdered his family, the man who stood for everything they'd ever fought against – flashed across his mind.

_Shit._

Lily grasped Harry hand and held it tightly, sensing his rising anxiety. "It's okay, Harry. Everyone's okay."

"I'm – sorry," he said on impulse.

"Harry, what could you possibly have to apologise for?"

He didn't know. His chest felt tight. He didn't want to do this. How could she look at him like that? With such sympathy and devotion. She'd _seen_ all the things he'd done for Voldemort. Didn't she care? He was a dark wizard. Coerced or not, he'd helped a Dark Lord take over the wizarding world. Didn't that mean anything to her? There had to be a limit to a mother's love for a son who had abandoned everything she stood for.

"We're the ones who need to apologise," said James resolutely. "We absolutely hate that this is the way we found out about… everything… and we're so sorry, Harry. It's… I still don't think I've been able to fully grasp these – these _horrors _ that you've had to face. We were going to obliviate ourselves. It seemed the decent thing to do… but we _have_ to know these things. We have to set them straight."

Oh no.

"Can we not do this now?" Harry asked, pulling away from Lily's grasp and pressing the palms of his hands to his stinging eyes.

"You don't have to do anything, just listen. You were wrong, Harry. We would _never_ condemn you for what that man – that _monster_ has done to you. We know who you are now, indisputably, and everything has changed."

"Nothing has–"

"Yes, it has," Lily interrupted with a quiet ferocity. "We are the only ones who have the right to tell you what's what, because we're the only ones who care about you wholeheartedly and unconditionally, so you need to listen to us when we tell you there is no what in all that is magical that we're sending you back into the hands of that monster."

"You don't–"

"No!" she interrupted again, eyes flashing. "We let you keep your distance all this time because we didn't know the full truth, but now we do, and now we can help you. We will help you. There is always a way."

"You can't–"

"Harry, we get it, you've had a difficult life, and you've got so much at stake; your friends, your _soul_, we get it, but we refuse to give up, and we refuse to let you give up either."

"Let me?" Harry echoed exhaustedly. "Voldemort wears my defeat as a medallion around his neck."

Lily and James shared a heavy look with each other.

James said slowly, "We saw you give up last night, Harry. I caught the exact moment. You couldn't see a way out, so you just let go… yet here you are now. You got away because we were able to help you. We can help you out of this, too. You just need to trust us."

Harry stared at the ceiling, unable to stand their gazes. They'd seen every waking moment of his life, so why didn't they get it? Couldn't they see that he was irrevocably, irreparably doomed? Perhaps more so than he'd ever been in his life?

The Voldemort of this world would never trust him again. His only remaining horcrux was Nagini, and Harry could only venture to guess what kinds of obscure, dark rituals Voldemort was enacting at this very moment to keep his final anchor to life safe. Trying to destroy her now was assuredly nearly impossible. He wouldn't even know where to begin, and no one could help him, not even Dumbledore. It was beyond hopeless.

He'd failed.

Which meant his Voldemort was going to be beyond furious. Harry was now stranded in this universe, and there was no way his Voldemort would stand for that, which meant there was only one conceivable course of action.

Any second now, his Voldemort was going to materialise, beyond furious, and plunge a basilisk fang into Harry's horcrux. The thought sent a cold shiver of fear down his spine. There was nothing he could do to stop it, and there was certainly nothing James and Lily could do either. This was his inevitable future.

He was about to attempt to put this into words when the Infirmary doors burst open and Holly charged in. She froze at the sight of Harry for a moment before launching herself onto him, making him gasp. She buried her head into his shoulder.

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so, so sorry – what I – I don't – I'm sorry I'm so, so–"

"Holly, come on, let him breathe," said James, gently coaxing her off him.

She sat on the edge of the bed and whipped her nose. She looked pale, with bloodshot eyes and dark shadows underneath. It pained him to see her like this. It took him a moment to figure out what the matter was.

"Holly, you have all the strength of a pygmy puff. It barely even stung," he said hesitantly.

"You're full of it," she said accusingly, averting her gaze. "The way you flinched–"

"That was for Voldemort. It's the first rule of torture, Holly. Put on a show."

She swallowed hard and narrowed her eyes at him. "So… I didn't hurt you?"

"Not really. You're really bad at torturing people."

A nervous, frantic laugh bubbled up from somewhere dark inside her. "So when Voldemort got out that other whip with all the different strands, you were just putting on a show then as well?"

Harry hesitated. "Yeah," he said, giving a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "All a show."

She didn't look convinced, but thankfully he was saved further questioning when Mrs Longbottom appeared and began insisting that they should be letting Harry rest.

As James and Lily reluctantly ushered Holly off, she asked, "Harry's going to stay here, with us from now on, right?"

James suppressed a smile. "It's going to take some convincing but, yeah, he'll realise soon enough that he's one of us now."

Harry bit his lip. He couldn't bring himself to voice just how wrong James was in front of Holly.

"Are we going to obliviate ourselves?" Holly asked next.

Lily cast a wary glance at Harry. "No, honey. We decided against erasing them. We're going to keep our memories so we can help Harry."

"Oh," she said quietly. "Do you… do you think you could just obliviate me, then? From the moment we were taken? I just keep seeing the whip – and the blood – and all his memories…"

James pulled her into a tight embrace when she faltered. "I know, I know, it's horrible, but we can't obliviate that much."

"Why not?" she demanded, blinking rapidly.

"Because it's already become a part of who you are. Something inside you has changed from this experience. We can take away the memory, but that change will still be there, and you won't know why, and it'll drive you insane with not knowing."

"But – but I…" she stared at her hands. Harry had never seen her look so small. He hated that he'd done this to her.

"Holly, listen to me," James began, kneeling down a little to look his daughter in the eye. "This all happened just a few hours ago. You're still processing. It seems like a catastrophe at the moment, but I promise as time goes by, this experience will have less of a hold on you, and then you'll be stronger and wiser for what you've experienced. Just be strong and give it time. Can you do that?"

She nodded, and after saying their quiet farewells, the three of them went to get some breakfast. Harry tried to give them some semblance of a reassuring smile as they left, then laid there and stared at the foot of his bed, ignoring his own breakfast that had appeared on the bed-side table, waiting and waiting for the Dark Lord to arrive.

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

He didn't know when he'd fallen asleep, but suddenly he was being shaken awake.

"Come on, Potter. How dare you be asleep when Daphne Greengrass has chosen to grace you with her presence?"

Harry groggily batted her away and sat up a little, feeling considerably stronger. She hopped onto the bed and sat on his legs.

"How are you going?" she asked.

"Fantastic."

"You're supposed to say, 'Daphne, I'm in terrible, terrible pain and I need vital medicine right away."

"Why?"

She held up a bottle of Firewhiskey. "I brought medicine."

"Isn't it a little early in the morning for hard liquor?"

"Shows what you know. It's two o'clock," she said. Harry blinked at that. "You've been dead to the world for at least a day now. Your counterpart has been painting you as quite the hero to anyone who will listen. He must have retold his story of gallantry about a hundred times, and I've noticed that with every time the details become more ludicrous. Are you really an Animagus?" When he nodded, her expression turned mischievous. "I've _always_ wanted to ride a dragon."

"Not happening."

"Oh, come on… let me ride your dragon," she murmured, quirking her eyebrows in a manner that suggested she was no longer referring to his Animagus.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Ah, so after all this time you've just been trying to get in my pants."

"I thought that was obvious," she said dismissively. "And why not? You could then say with absolute confidence that you're the only Dark Soldier who's not a virgin."

That made him laugh. "That is not a milestone _anyone_ is keeping track of."

She gazed at him searchingly for a moment and leaned in a little. "I bet you're afraid of it – your Animagus, I mean. I bet you think it's proof that you're this big bad monster."

Harry shook his head. That had been exactly how he'd felt, but not anymore. Not after last night.

"You were right," he said. "I'm through with being afraid of myself, afraid of my own parents. I'm never going to be afraid of anything ever again."

She raised her eyebrows. "Just like that?"

"Just like that.

It really wouldn't be that hard, he mused. His worst fear in the world was having his horcrux destroyed, and that was going to happen any second now.

Daphne popped the cork off the Firewhiskey and took a swig. "Well, come on, then. Let's go get some lunch. You must be starving."

"I'm good," he muttered, turning his gaze to the ceiling resolutely.

Daphne stared at him for a moment. "Come on, haven't you got a plan?"

"For what?"

"For what to do next, of course. You've always got some scheme in the works. How are you going to get Nagini, eh? Another daring heist? A brilliant deceit? What's your plan?"

"I haven't got one."

"Why not?"

Harry sighed. Why didn't anyone understand?

"Because I'll never be able to get to Nagini. Voldemort knows she's his last horcrux, so he'll be protecting her with everything he's got. I… can't compete with that. It's only a matter of time before my Voldemort realises that I've failed. I can't really see him tolerating my little happily ever after stuck in this universe, can you? So he'll take the only option he's got left and stick a basilisk fang in my horcrux. After which I'll probably implode on myself like a dying star and beg for death."

Daphne stared at him for a long moment, mulling over his words thoughtfully.

"…and your solution to this impending doom is to just… lie here and torture yourself all the more?"

"There's nothing more I can do," he said quietly. The thought gave him a queer sense of peace.

There was nothing more he could do.

But Daphne Greengrass clearly thought otherwise. She jumped to her feet on top the bed, standing over him and crossing her arms.

"I am thoroughly disappointed in you," she declared. "I never thought Harry Potter would lie down and die this easily."

Harry squinted up at her with irritation. "I'm just facing facts."

She rolled her eyes. "Look, Potter, it's fair to say that you've spent pretty much your entire life following orders. Zero freedom, zero future – completely miserable, right? If I were you, I would see your current situation as an opportunity. You said yourself that you can't change what's about to happen, so nothing you do from this point onwards matters… so why don't you just go and fucking enjoy yourself? Who cares? Wouldn't going out there and clawing any measly sliver of happiness you can get your hands on be in and of itself an act of rebellion? One final '_fuck you!' _to the man who caused it all?"

Harry opened his mouth to disagree, but nothing came out.

His actions no longer had consequences. He was free in a way he hadn't been in a long time. He'd spent so long being tortured, and perhaps even longer torturing himself. Couldn't he catch a break? He couldn't help but imagine Voldemort's face if he materialised in all the throes of rage, ready to end Harry's life as he knew it, only to find Harry in the midst of a spirited game of exploding snap.

Daphne was staring down at him and slowly beginning to smirk, as though she could see the machinations of his mind gradually coming to the realisation that she was right. She handed him the Firewhiskey. He took it and forced down a large gulp. The burn in his throat reminded him of his Animagus, and it made him feel invisible.

"Fine, have it your way," he muttered, throwing the blankets off him.

Daphne stopped him abruptly, paling slightly. "Wait, wait, wait… your back, it's all healed up, right?"

Harry paused and rolled his shoulders experimentally. "I think so. Why?"

"No reason," she said quickly, jumping off the bed. "I just really didn't need to see that."

"What, blood?"

"I told you, I can't handle that stuff."

Harry gave an incredulous scoff. "I can't believe you of all people are squeamish around blood."

Her eyes flashed. "Yes, well, that's why I learnt a hundred different spells that could kill you without leaving a spot of red, so watch your mouth."

Harry raised his hands in mock surrender, but froze with his arms held out in front of him. He stared at his bare wrists, free of shackles, free of Dark Marks, and with just the faintest scars as the only proof of the runes that had once been carved into his flesh. Their absence gave him a strange impression of airiness. There was a lightness to his movements. It was an illusion to be sure, but a blissful one.

He quickly threw on some robes he found in the bedside table and followed Daphne out of the Infirmary, feeling just the barest hints of exhaustion still plaguing his muscles.

"So, what did you have in mind for your last day on earth?"

He didn't have to think for long.

"Quidditch. Definitely Quidditch."

She smiled. "Alright, let's see if we can't scare up a match."

She led him to the Great Hall. Though it was well past lunchtime, a group was still gathered at the table that was traditionally Gryffindor's. His alternate family were there, along with Sirius, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. Their aspects were tense, conversing in quiet tones.

"Harry, how are you feeling?" James asked.

"Who's up for a game of Quidditch?" Harry asked the group in lieu of answering his question.

James' eyebrows shot up. "Are you sure you're–"

"Hell yes!" his counterpart said loudly, jumping to his feet. "I've been waiting far too long to whop your arse at Quidditch."

Harry gave an indignant scoff before he could stop himself. "Oh, remind me, which Harry was the youngest seeker in a century?"

"That doesn't mean squat. I know for a fact that you haven't played a game in years."

Harry couldn't keep himself from grinning. Why had it taken him this long to permit himself Quidditch? It was a testament to how much he loved the game that just the thought of it already had him acting like a schoolchild.

"Skill isn't something that wears off," he said.

His counterpart's eyes widened as though he was seeing Harry for the first time. He looked positively giddy. "Oh, it is _on_," he said, giving Harry a competitive shove before taking off in the direction of the Quidditch Pitch. Harry was about to follow alongside Ron and Ginny when Lily stopped him, full of concern.

"Harry, Mrs Longbottom didn't accidently slip you an Elixir of Euphoria, did she?" she asked, looking searchingly into each of his eyes.

Harry shrugged and pulled away. "No, I've just decided to reassess my attitude. Are you coming?"

James stood up and gestured to the vacated seat next to him. "Harry, would you have a seat, please? Have something to eat and then we can discuss–"

"Dad, I want to play Quidditch. Are you coming or not?"

Anything James had been about to say died in his throat. The word had felt foreign on Harry's tongue, but there, he'd said it to the only person who deserved the title, for the first time in his life. James' expression was getting to painful to look at, and his cheeks were beginning to burn, so he turned away decisively and followed his counterpart.

"Yeah… yeah, okay," he heard James stutter, and Harry couldn't help but smile He also heard James turn to Daphne and quietly, "What in Merlin's name did you say to him?"

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

As it turns out, Harry should not have been so confident in his Quidditch skills. James had quickly shot down the idea of the two Harrys being on opposing teams.

"You two have enough of a rivalry going on. I'm putting you both on the same team so I can thwart both of you at once," he said as he handed out the broomsticks.

Hermione and Lily had elected to watch from the stands, which left Harry, his counterpart, Holly, and Ron on one team and James, Sirius, Ginny, and Daphne on the other.

"Don't you want to be on the same team as your boyfriend?" Harry had asked Ginny.

She pulled a face. "Of course not. He thinks he's a better player than me."

Sirius handed everyone a Beater and released one Bludger and the Quaffle into the sky. Everyone kicked off, and Harry followed suit in confusion.

"Where's the Snitch?" he asked.

"There isn't one," said Holly. "We're playing Backyard Rules with only four players a team. One Quaffle, one Bludger, everyone gets a Beater. First team to score a hundred wins."

"Oh." He'd never been in a game of Quidditch without a Snitch, and he'd certainly never participated as anything but a Seeker. "Er, my boasting was based purely on the assumption that there would be a Snitch."

"Sucks to be you then," Sirius yelled with a grin before throwing up the Quaffle to begin the game.

He found it very difficult to focus on the game at first. It had been a very long time since he'd simply enjoyed the act of flying, of that sensation of weightlessness that flipped your stomach, of the wind whipping through your hair. Everyone else was taking the game far more seriously. It was clear from the very beginning that he didn't size up. Talent was one thing, but tactics were quite another, and they'd had been perfecting them for years.

On one of the few occasions he did manage to seize the Quaffle, Sirius and James closed in on either side of him. He tried to duck away, but they had him penned in. His counterpart screamed some kind of warning, but before he could figure out how to escape, James and Sirius performed some kind of simultaneous barrel-roll manoeuvre that left him dizzy, Quaffle-less and not entirely sure what had just happened. All he knew was that Daphne was laughing very loudly at his expense.

"What are you doing, Harry? Get your head in the game!" Holly reprimanded after Sirius had scored. They were losing 50-30.

"I'm a Seeker," Harry argued. "I don't actually _play_ Quidditch, I just wander around aimlessly until I catch the Snitch and take all the glory."

He was promptly banished to be Keeper down the other end of the pitch, which suited him just fine. It gave him a chance to watch the others, and he had to admit that he was impressed. When his counterpart got the Quaffle, James and Sirius attempted to pull the same manoeuvre as they had on him, but his counterpart drew sharply upward and performed a double barrel roll with practised ease, evading the two.

Intrigued by the double barrel roll, Harry tried it himself, swinging himself upside down only to find that had hadn't given himself enough momentum to get back up again. He dangled upside-down for a moment, marvelling at the blue sky which had now become a blue ocean beneath a green sky, with the goal posts hanging down like great fishing hooks.

He wondered what was taking Voldemort so long. It had been hours, now. Why was he waiting? To torture Harry from the suspense? He imagined Voldemort sitting in his throne, stroking Harry's horcrux maliciously, waiting for the perfect moment to ravage Harry's whole world…

He shook himself of the thought, dread curling his stomach. He swooped down to right himself and tried the double barrel-roll again. He soon found himself performing lazy barrel rolls across the sky. He was so engrossed that he nearly failed to notice Ginny barrelling toward him with the Quaffle, easily avoiding the Bludger Ron sent her way. She threw the Quaffle with perfect aim at the centre goal. Harry just managed to right himself and lunge for the Quaffle before it could sail through.

"A-hah!" he said victoriously.

His sense of accomplishment was short-lived, however. Sirius got on past him not long after, and his team surrounded him in frustration.

"I thought you were some kind of prodigy," said Holly, whacking him on the shoulder.

"I'm trying," he muttered.

"Come on, they're about to win," his counterpart said hotly. "I swear to Merlin if we lose I'm breaking all your broomsticks!"

"You guys are taking this a tad more seriously than I'd anticipated–"

"It's Quidditch!"

"Exactly! I just wanted to play a stupid game. You're treating this like the bloody World Cup."

"It might as well be," his counterpart retorted. "The stakes are just as high. Don't you see this is about respect? Bragging rites? Whoever wins this game is going to be lording it over the other for months!"

"Okay, okay, I'll do better," Harry muttered, still bewildered. "Merlin, should I just transform into a dragon and incinerate their goals? It'll be a bit difficult for them to win after that."

He'd said it as a joke, but his counterpart looked as though he was seriously considering it. It needn't have mattered though, as Ginny had soon scored them their winning goal.

Daphne sidled up next to him. "Not so confident now, are we?"

"Shut up," Harry said with pretend hostility. "I want a Snitch."

"What do you think Black is getting?"

Sure enough, Sirius returned with the snitch and set it off. They continued to play into the late evening, and to Harry's relief, everyone took the ensuing games much less seriously. He caught the Snitch more times than he cared to remember, each time bringing back that familiar exhilaration.

When the sun drew close to the horizon they trudged, tired and sore, back up to the castle for supper. His counterpart animatedly described a manoeuvre he desperately wanted to attempt, whereupon two players would actually jump onto each others' brooms to confuse the opposing team while Ginny strongly argued that this was a pointless and stupid thing to attempt.

Harry lagged behind them, walking beside James and listening to their bickering. At the entrance, Peter Pettigrew was waiting for them.

" James, why didn't you tell me you were back?" he asked jovially. "I was worried sick. Harry, are you all–"

James stepped in front of Harry. "Don't talk to him," he said with a quiet ferocity.

"Prongs? What's wrong?"

James' body went rigid, as though it took every bit of his self-control not to do something extreme. "Stay away from my family, Peter," he said, venom lacing every word. "I never, _ever_ want to see you again."

"What… why? What did I do?"

"James–" Harry began.

"Everything! You're responsible for _everything_ – you miserable _rat _– you–"

"James, no," Harry growled, pushing James away from Peter and standing between them.

"Harry, you don't have to put up with him anymore," said James, glaring over Harry's shoulder.

"He didn't do anything wrong."

James gave a nasty laugh. "He's the reason you lost everything."

"Yeah, _my_ Peter. This Peter is good, and kind, and different."

"What… what did I do? Please, tell me–"

"Peter, can you give us a moment?" Harry asked without turning away from James. "I'll explain everything later."

Peter fumbled to argue for a moment, but the look on James' face sent him retreating into the castle. James turned away from Harry, raking both hands though his hair.

"You don't understand, Harry. We nearly lost Peter seventeen years ago. We discovered Voldemort had been grooming him, but he was our friend, so we helped him get away. We stayed loyal to him because we thought he would always be loyal to us. We trusted him! It never occurred to me that he could have _actually_ become a Death Eater, but now..." he trailed off.

"This Peter hasn't done anything."

"Maybe not, but all it took was one decision," James said, beginning to pace. "That's the only difference between our worlds. One decision, and Peter becomes this… this monster, and I'm never going to be able to look at him the same. It's like I've been blinded to this side of him my whole life. I'm so sorry, I was a fool to ever trust him, and you paid the price. This world's Peter is just as horrible as yours."

"This Peter never sold out his friends."

"No, but he would have!" James said forcefully, halting in his pacing and sitting heavily at the bottom of the steps, glaring out at the lawns and the Quidditch Pitch in the distance.

Harry sighed and sat beside him. "You know, Dumbledore believes there are probably millions upon millions of different universes out there, filled with an infinite number of possibilities. There's probably a world where I'm a dark lord, and Voldemort is a symbol of the light fighting against the evil that is the Dark Lord Harry Potter." He hesitated. "There's probably even a world where you and Mum gave me up to Voldemort to save yourselves."

"We would _never_–"

"No, you wouldn't," Harry reassured. "But somewhere inside you, there's a part of you that would have. Just like there's a part of Peter that would make him serve Voldemort, and a part of me that would become a dark lord. Sometimes our paths are chosen for us just as much as we choose them for ourselves."

"What are you saying, Harry? That I should just love and respect him as I always have while completely ignoring all the things he's done in the universe just next door?"

"I don't know," he said honestly, staring at his hands. "But you can't be angry at a Peter who's only ever been a loyal friend. I spent a long time being angry at your Peter, but I guess I realised that to be angry at him is to be angry at every person who ever existed, because there's bound to be some reality out there where they did unforgiveable things. In Azkaban your Peter stood up against Voldemort to try and protect me. My Peter never would have done that. Maybe you should just try to be thankful that this Peter was spared his own demons."

James gave Harry a long, hard look before sighing heavily and gripping Harry shoulder. "You're right, Harry… you're right," he said, voice heavy with exhaustion. "Merlin, I hate that I wasn't there for you. You've had to go through so much on your own. Your mother and I, we had our theories, of course, but we never could have imagined how..." he trailed off miserably.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Forget about it. I didn't want you to know."

James hesitated. "Well, we did know at least one of us was dead," he said, catching Harry by surprise. "We've had that one figured out for a while now. How could we not? But it was clear you didn't want to talk about it, and we figured seeing us must be painful for you, so we kept our distance. It seemed the kindest thing to do, under the circumstances, but we can't go on like that. You need us, Harry."

Harry rubbed at the faded runes beneath his sleeve. Alarm bells were going off in his head. He didn't want to talk about this. The world was getting darker as night set in, and with it the rising sense of foreboding he'd been swallowing down all day was now threatening to spill over. He got up and left James without a word. Supper was just unfolding in the Great Hall, but Harry prowled straight past and escaped to his room.

He stalked to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He stared at the boy in the mirror, barely recognising his own appearance. What was taking Voldemort so long? He found himself willing the Dark Lord to come, to put him out of his misery. He stared down at his deactivated runes. Were they preventing Voldemort from coming to this world? That wouldn't stop Voldemort from driving the fang into his horcrux anyway. He went as still as he could, focusing to feel even the barest twinge of pain in his scar.

"Harry?" came James' voice.

He felt a twinge of annoyance. James and Lily appeared hesitantly in the doorway of his bathroom. He didn't acknowledge them. He flicked on the tap and watched the water flow.

"Harry… please talk to us."

"Can you please just leave me alone?"

The last thing he wanted was for them to be a witness when Voldemort finally came to his senses.

"No," said James.

And suddenly they were either side of him, gazing at him through the mirror. His heart constricted painfully. Did they know? Were they doing it on purpose? Did they realise they were bringing to life what he'd seen in the Mirror of Erised all those years ago?"

Lily placed a hand on his shoulder. "Voldemort is going to pay for what he's done to you."

All the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He closed his eyes, still bent over the basin. It occurred to him that this was the real torture. This was far, far worse than having dead parents. He hadn't had to cope with relentless devotion. He would give anything to return the two of them to the abstract concepts they'd been before he'd been summoned.

He smiled a little with tired exasperation. "You can't possibly –" he cut off when the ground beneath them shuddered. His first thought was that Voldemort was finally arriving, but then a sizzling, crackling crash reverberated in his chest and Harry was bolting to the window in alarm, James and Lily at his heels.

The sky was alit with glowing splinters that severed upward from the ground, where hundreds of Death Eaters stood just beyond the wards. Their wands were raised to the wards, lips moving in an eerie chant.

Nausea twisted his stomach. This may be an alternate universe, but Harry had lived this particular timeline before. Images of a burning Hogwarts, of Albus Dumbledore lying motionless in the grass, of students torn from their home, flashed before his eyes. Voldemort's Death Eaters had come to raze Hogwarts of everything it protected and drag him away from his home all over again.

He swore quietly.

"We'll be okay," said Lily. "We've been preparing for exactly this scenario ever since the Reformation."

"This is all because of me," Harry said. Voldemort had sworn revenge on him. He never should have stayed at Hogwarts.

"Don't," said James firmly. "We'll get through this, and when it's all over, you'll come with us and we'll all be a proper family. I promise, now come on."

He ushered them urgently toward the door. Harry followed mutely, heart sinking. James' words had felt so familiar, just like the promises Sirius had made to him about being a proper family in his third year.

It might have been the intensity of James' gaze, or the fervour of his voice. Whatever it was, Harry was suddenly convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that James was going to die.

* * *

I know it's been a while so I'm just gonna leave this here and slink back into the shadows with promises that this story isn't abandoned and that I'll have the next chapter soon(ish)...


	22. How to Save a Life

Chapter 21: How to Save a Life

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

"We all knew this day would come and you all know what needs to be done," said Professor Dumbledore to the growing crowd. "The wards could fall in less than an hour, and before that happens the only wizards and witches I want in this castle are those willing and able to fight. Please begin evacuation procedures immediately."

As he spoke, a bell-like alarm began to ring across the grounds and the crowd scattered with an explosion of shouts and orders.

"How are we supposed to get people out?" Harry asked as he and his parents ducked out of the crowd's way. He watched the Death Eaters work on the wards with a cold sense of de ja vu.

"Portkeys," said Lily. "We've got hundreds of them prepared to take us to various safehouses all over Europe for exactly this reason."

"Harry, go and find Holly and Harry and evacuate with the others. Get yourselves as far away from here as possible," said James, attempting to usher Harry up the stairs.

"Are you kidding me?" Harry retorted, fending him off. "I'm more than willing to fight and just as able."

James gave him the kind of severe, don't-mess-with-me look that only a father could give. "That doesn't matter. You're not the Champion of Worlds anymore, Harry. You're our son, and we're going to protect you. Go and find you brother and sister and evacuate with the others. That isn't a suggestion."

Harry stared hard at James. "Has it occurred to you that maybe I'm the one who's-"

"Now."

Harry closed his mouth. He tried to retort, only for the words to die in his throat. He wordlessly turned his back on James and Lily and stalked up the stairs, heart thumping against his ribs. He felt about twelve years old. He weaved in and out of an agitated yet orderly crowd and raced to the Gryffindor Common Room. He wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't argued back. Hadn't he been doing precisely that from the moment he'd gotten here?

Harry realised then that James had just fathered him. That wasn't fair. James has had lots of practise at being a father. Harry had no idea how to be a son. All he knew was that if he'd argued against James it would have felt like he was betraying something.

When he arrived at the dorms, he found his counterpart rifling through his belongings.

"Oh, hi," his counterpart said distractedly before extracting a snitch from somewhere in the recesses of his trunk.

"What are you doing?"

His counterpart turned sheepish. He slung his Invisibility Cloak over his shoulder and clicked open the snitch to show the Resurrection Stone within. "Okay, I know I don't have the Elder Wand but I do have two Deathly Hallows, and that's got to count for something, right?"

Harry blinked. "What do you mean you have two Deathly Hallows? Who the hell is going around giving you Deathly Hallows?"

He smiled. "My Invisibility Cloak is a hallow. It's been handed down through our family for generations. Didn't you know?"

"No, I didn't," Harry said slowly. He decided to file that bit of information away for later. "What exactly is your plan?"

His counterpart deflated a little and said insecurely, "Well, they're powerful relics, right? I might not be Master of Death... but this is the best way I can think of to help. I'll find a way to..." he trailed off unsurely.

Harry had recognised bits of himself in his counterpart before, but this was the first time he'd been slapped in the face by it. Of course his counterpart wouldn't think for a second about evacuating. He wanted to fight. He wanted to do whatever it would take to protect what he loved, and it wouldn't matter if he had the Deathly Hallows or his bare hands, he would still fight. For all his counterpart was arrogant, childish, and needlessly antagonistic, he had to be given credit for that. Maybe that was why Dumbledore had given him the stone, and if he already had the cloak...

"Mate, you're already the Master of Death," Harry said, only just realising the fact himself. "Don't you know how wand loyalty works? I won the Elder Wand's loyalty from Dumbledore during James' duelling session, and Voldemort would have won its loyalty from me when I gave it to him but before I could you came into my room and snatched it right out of my hand, remember?"

His counterpart's eyes widened. "You mean the wand's loyalty… is mine?"

Harry couldn't help but smirk. "Don't get any ideas. Just because Voldemort doesn't have its' loyalties doesn't mean it's not still a powerful weapon in his hands. You won't be getting it off him easily."

His counterpart nodded absently. It was clear he hadn't fully absorbed Harry's words. He was staring reverently at the Resurrection Stone. A second wave of sputtering sizzles shook the school, accompanied by an electric light show lighting up the sky. The two dashed to the window to find Death Eaters spilling past the wards and up the grassy banks like some blackened flood.

"Merlin, that was fast," his counterpart breathed.

Voldemort was hovering above his Death Eaters as they broke past the wards with shouts of triumph. He was grinning monstrously, and draped leisurely over his shoulders like some perverse shawl was Nagini. Harry swore in disbelief. This had to be some trick, some mistake, some rouse, but there was no denying it. Voldemort had brought his last link to immortality.

A spark of morbid excitement flooded his veins. "Find your sister and get out of here," Harry ordered, making for the door.

"Where are you going?"

He didn't respond. He didn't need his counterpart following him into the Chamber of Secrets. He wasted no time in opening the Chamber and clambering down into the sewerage pipes. As he traversed the labyrinth in an eerie silence, doubt began to set in.

Nagini was bait. She had to be. Voldemort would not risk bringing her here if she wasn't. She had to be a trap. A trap for him to fall into and become ensnared by the Dark Lord all over again.

But he couldn't not go after her. This might be his one chance. Would he really be able to do this? He'd been writhing beneath Voldemort's Cruciatus Curse barely two days ago.

But what choice did he have?

I have no choice, he told himself. He gripped his wand tighter. He would do whatever it took. He ripped a fang from the Basilisk's rotting corpse with a wet crunch, coving his mouth from the stench. He felt the ground shudder. Bits of debris fell ominously from the marble walls. He needed to hurry.

By the time he got back to the steps out the front of the Entrance, the school was in a state of chaos. The air was practically buzzing from the magical energy of curses whizzing left and right. Death Eaters far outnumbered what was left of the occupants of Hogwarts, but he supposed that was a good thing. It meant most of Hogwarts had been Portkeyed to safety. And those left behind weren't fighting alone, however. Their numbers were bolstered by Hogwarts' statues and suits of armour, brought magically to life and fighting valiantly for the freedom of their home.

His attention was brought from the fighting knights to Daphne standing at the bottom of the steps. Armed to the teeth, she was decked out in what he could only assume was the entire catalogue of her father's weapons collection. There was even a gun holstered at her hip. She was frozen on the spot, staring unseeingly at the battle before her.

"Daphne?"

She stared, unseeing, at the battle-scene before her. "I can do it," she said, though her voice was barely above a whisper. Harry was suddenly sorry he'd made fun of her. This was clearly much more than an aversion to blood.

"You don't have to fight."

She didn't reply. Harry hesitated. He didn't know how to help her, and he really didn't want to be worrying about protecting her when he was trying to destroy a dark lord. She was going to get herself killed just standing here.

A flash of red caught his eye. Holly came barrelling out of the castle and past them with her wand raised and a war-cry on her lips. Harry's stomach dropped.

"HOLLY!" he cried, but she either didn't hear him or didn't care.

A masked Death Eater turned to her hungrily. To her credit, she did block his first two curses, but the moment she dropped her shield to retaliate he had her pinned in an Incarcerous Curse.

Harry's world went red. He didn't realise he'd been moving until he was upon them with the Cruciatus Curse spilling from his lips. The Death Eater, impervious to Harry's descent, had no opportunity to defend himself before Harry had lifted him off his feet, where he writhed in the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling, and then crumpled to the ground.

"Get back inside," he snarled at Holly.

"I want to fight!"

Her face was set with a determination that reminded him of Lily. But she was thirteen. That fierce look had all the impact of a stuffed teddy bear trying to be menacing. This was all his fault. He was supposed to get her evacuated, but Voldemort had distracted him. He turned to Daphne. She'd come running too, and now her eyes were trained on the catatonic Death Eater.

"Daphne, Holly's in danger. Please, get her to safety."

Daphne nodded. She seized Holly's arm with white knuckles and tugged her, protesting, back to the castle. Harry ached to go with them, but he had to find Nagini. He had to end this.

Voldemort was setting the Greenhouses on fire, the curses coming in staccato bursts from his wand. Nagini circled feverishly by his feet. She reared up to stare right at Harry. She opened her mouth in a vicious hiss and Voldemort turned to lock eyes with him as well. He smirked, his mouth moving in a manner than could only by Parceltongue. Nagini dipped back to the ground and darted toward him.

It was to be a show-down, then. So be it.

A curse whizzed dangerously close to his left ear. Draco Malfoy stepped in front of him with a wolfish expression and hunger in his eyes. He was covered in grit and his usually immaculate hair was in such a state that Harry almost didn't recognise him.

"What happened to you?" Harry asked disdainfully. He cast a wary glance at the rapidly approaching python, but Malfoy was impervious to Nagini's advance.

He bristled and hissed, "You happened to me. You stole that blasted Diary, and I paid for it. Now I'm going to make you pay for it. Crucio!"

Harry lunged out of the curse's path and blasted Malfoy ten metres off his feet. He didn't have time for this. There was a serpent on her way to kill him. Malfoy landed harshly on the ground. Nagini slithered past his groaning form before rising up with her tail flicking and her head twitching from side to side. She hissed at Harry, opening her pink mouth disconcertingly wide and showing off a pair of fangs glistening with poison.

He shot a blasting curse at her. She easily darted out of its path, quicker than lightning. She hissed again. He couldn't tell if she was warning him or goading him. She certainly wasn't speaking Parceltongue.

She coiled around herself, crouching low like a cat preparing to pounce. He dug the fang out of his pocket. The moment she saw it she lunged – too quick to react – and her jaw locked onto his arm, teeth sinking into his flesh sickeningly. He staggered back and cried out, thrashing his arm wildly. Curses spilled from his lips in a garbled panic, but if she felt their effects, she didn't show it.

At last she let go and Harry stumbled backward as she retreated. He fumbled to pick up the fang. His forearm was throbbing and oozing blood. He couldn't tell if it was poison or adrenaline that was making his mind reel dizzily. Nagini had coiled around herself once more, quivering and hissing, tongue flicking as though she could taste the blood now dripping from Harry's arm.

He clenched his fist around the fang. "Come on then," he growled, raising it in preparation.

Before he could prepare, before he could react, before he could think her fangs were sinking into his shoulder. He fell back from the sheer force of her strike and she immediately retreated, dexterously avoiding his mad stabbings with the fang.

She hissed once more, then twisted around and left him there on the ground, winded and wheezing. He angrily sent a Protego at her, followed by a Bombarda, and a Confringo and a Bat-Boogey Hex. All of them found their mark, but they just glanced off her scales. It occurred to Harry that Voldemort must have put some protective curse on her. He swore and slumped back with his wounds throbbing angrily. Colourful lights winked at him and fizzled across his vision. He shook his head the try and clear the wooziness from his head, but that just made the world begin spinning and flashing like some nightmarish merry-go-round.

His eyes followed the witches and wizards battling around him. He felt strangely detached from everything happening around him. The shouts and crashes felt muted in his ears. The spells and those casting them had the strange, evanescent quality of dreams. Everyone seemed to be fighting in slow motion, and he couldn't figure out how that would be helpful.

The Greenhouses were a spectacle of an inferno. Heavy black smoke billowed upward like a heavy blanket enveloping them and little glowing embers wafted over the breeze, falling from the sky. It was oddly beautiful. Transfixing. He was touched by the inexplicable beauty of Hogwarts on fire.

He caught sight of James and Lily over by the Whomping Willow. They were fighting side-by-side. No, it was more than that… they were fighting in tandem, spinning around each other, firing off curses and defending each other in perfect unity, as though they had been born to fight as one. They built each other up. Their love was their strength, where it had always been Harry's weakness.

_James is going to die._

The thought came to him again. He couldn't explain where it came from, but he believed it to a fault. Somehow, sometime, destiny would come knocking. Death would come knocking, just like it always did.

He couldn't allow it. Not again. He couldn't let Voldemort do to this world what he had done to Harry's. His father would not be killed in his own home without even a wand in his hand. His mother would not die begging for Harry's life.

Amortentia be damned! He may be a monster with a soul mangled and a heart torn loose, but he still had enough essence inside him to recognise love. He loved his parents, damn it. He had to protect them, any way he could. They would do the same for him. They had done the same for him.

Lily's hair flailed about her as she darted this way and that. He felt as though he was seeing her for the first time. He'd spent so long stuck in his own head, with his own demons, that he'd barely stopped to appreciate the fact that this was his mother in the flesh, with blood pounding through her veins and eyes flashing with _life_.

He pictured his real mother in her grave an entire world away. She'd died to protect him. She paid the final price for the slim hope that it would mean he would live. But it had worked. Her sacrifice had changed everything. Wasn't it only fair that he gave up something of himself – everything of himself – for her in return?

He staggered to his feet with renewed vigour, Nagini forgotten. He turned to where Voldemort had been, only to find that Voldemort was already upon him, watching him with a subtle smirk. Harry had a feeling Voldemort had been watching him all along. Nagini slithered about his feet. Harry stood a little taller and tried not to sway on the spot, glaring at Voldemort.

"You were a fool to ever try, Potter," Voldemort sneered as Harry struggled to stay on his feet. He raised his wand. "Now, be a good little soldier and accept your corporeal damnation."

Everything inside him told him to fight, to run, to do something, but Nagini was still alive. He was running out of options, but there was still one way. He couldn't kill Voldemort. Perhaps he never could, but he could still stop Voldemort from hurting the people he loved.

He threw the fang and his wand to the ground.

"Have at me."

He was okay with this. He'd be ripped from his body, cursed to incorporeal damnation. He was fine with that. Lily's sacrifice had protected him against Voldemort once, so now his sacrifice would do that same. He would make sure Voldemort could never hurt any of them ever again.

A wand was suddenly pressed against his neck from behind. Malfoy had sneaked up on him.

"I've got him, my Lord! I've got the Champion of Worlds!" he cried breathlessly, wrapping his arm around Harry's neck.

Harry felt a wave of exasperation at Malfoy's antics, but let Malfoy tackle him anyway. He only had eyes for Voldemort, who was smirking at Malfoy's sordid attempt to get back into the Dark Lord's good favour.

Voldemort levelled his wand right between Harry eyes, and Harry noted absently that his wand wasn't the Elder Wand.

_"Avada kedavra!"_

Harry flinched away from the green jet of light. His scar flared hot. He spotted Lily weaving her way across the battlefield. Her head turned as if sensing his eyes on her, and they found each other's gazes for a single instant that could have contained all of eternity.

• − ○ ◊ AU Harry ◊ ○ − •

(Going back in time a tiny bit)

Harry crouched apprehensively beneath his Invisibility Cloak watching Lord Voldemort set the Greenhouses on fire with Elder Wand. It sputtered with fire, visibly vibrating in the Dark Lord's hand. Voldemort appeared to be getting irritated. The Elder Wand clearly hadn't been performing as it should be. It gave Harry a satisfying sense of vindication.

Voldemort ended the curse and glared down at the Elder Wand. He sneered, and snapped it in two. Harry's breath caught. He flinched as the wood splintered neatly in two, heart falling. Voldemort threw the pieces to the side and withdrew another wand, marching off with renewed resolve. He didn't notice the wand shards knit themselves back together in the grass, but Harry did. He crept forward, hardly daring to breathe, and snatched it up. He glanced around in paranoia, but no one was paying him any attention. No one realised that the Master of Death had just entered their midst.

Exhilaration coursed through him. He'd done it! Master of Death! Friend of Thestrals! This was the destiny his entire life had been leading up to. He was a warrior now. A hero. He felt powerful. He felt godly! He felt…

Exactly the same.

He released his breath, feeling foolish. There was no magical awakening. No insane burst of godly powers. It was just him and his stupid self, holding these ancient mythical relics.

He sighed.

He surveyed the battle scene with vague thoughts of finding a Death Eater to test out the Deathstick on, when he found Malfoy holding his counterpart, who was staring at Voldemort with a far too calm expression on his face, his arm and shoulder slick with blood and two empty hands.

What the hell are you doing?

He took two urgent steps toward them, then stopped uncertainly. His counterpart had to have a plan. He always had a plan. He didn't want to ruin that. Whatever happened, his counterpart had a horcrux. He'd be okay.

Merlin, how Harry envied him.

He never had to fumble about to find his purpose. While Harry was selfishly trying to become the most powerful wizard alive, his counterpart was facing down Voldemort, fulfilling his destiny, becoming the saviour Harry had always dreamt of…

And being hit in the chest by the Killing Curse.

Harry felt strangely rooted to the spot as he watched Voldemort's curse sail through the air. His counterpart just stared it down as though the sheer force of his glare would be enough to stop the Unforgiveable. It burst against his chest. Malfoy stepped back and his counterpart's knees buckled, head jerking back before crumpling to the ground. Voldemort spared barely a moment to sneer down at his comatose form before turning on his heel and resuming his tirade upon Hogwarts.

Harry frowned at his counterpart, feeling as though his brain was buffering. His counterpart had a horcrux. Why had he fallen down? He waited for his counterpart to get up.

Why didn't he get up?

James and Lily were tearing across the lawn, both in the throes of a mad kind of fury. James tore after Voldemort with an animalistic roar while Lily turned on Draco with all the blazing madness of a bear.

That was when it occurred to Harry that his counterpart might actually be dead.

His heart was suddenly in his throat. "HARRY!" he screamed his own name, and felt as though he, too, had died.

He ran to his counterpart's side and knelt beside him. His murky eyes were open, staring unseeingly up at the sky. The sight made him sick to his stomach. How are you dead? _Why are you dead!? You're not supposed to be dead!_ He noticed his counterpart's wand and the basilisk lying in the grass. Why had he just thrown them away? What was he thinking? Why had he just given up? He seized the front of his counterpart's robes and shook them in a senseless attempt to wake him up.

"You idiot! What the hell have you done? I thought you had a horcrux, I thought you had a plan!"

He'd just stood there in all his jealousy and let his counterpart get murdered. What was wrong with him? Why hadn't he done anything? He pounded on his counterpart's chest in anger.

"Get up! Get up you asshole!"

The git hadn't even done what he'd been summoned here to do! Voldemort was still alive, and here Harry was, the Master of Death and completely powerless.

He'd be damned if he let his counterpart die for a world he had no reason to care about. What was the point of being Master of Death if he couldn't bring one measly git back from the dead? He pounded his chest harder.

"Wake – up – you–" he broke off, eyes widening, as he noticed something truly strange.

• − ○ ◊ Lily ◊ ○ − •

"You – killed – my – son!" Lily cried, casting curse after curse and advancing on Draco with every word.

Draco smirked like the smug little snot-nosed cretin he was. He blocked each of her curses, retreating at her advance. "You should be thankful," he goaded. "He had the honour of dying by the Dark Lord's hand. That's more than a filthy Mudblood like you will get."

"Come a little closer and I'll show you what a Mudblood can do," Lily hissed. She advanced on him again with a flurry of curses and struck him with a Stinging Hex.

Draco gasped, face reddening. He straightened and raised his wand to retaliate, only to be pushed aside by Severus. He and Lucius moved protectively in front of Draco.

Severus sneered down his hooked nose at Lily. "Now, now, Draco, try to be sympathetic. Mrs Potter has just watched one of her unruly offspring die, and will soon be watching the rest of her friends and family meet the same fate."

"Is this really what this has all come to, Severus?" Lily asked. "Have you strayed so far down this path that you are willing to murder me for your master?"

Severus pierced her with his black keys, expression forever unreadable. "There would be room in our ranks for a witch like you."

Lily shook her head in exasperation. "No, Severus. You chose your side. I chose mine."

"Well, you chose wrong, Mudblood!" Draco burst out, advancing on her.

"Run along, Draco," Severus snapped, pulling Draco back.

"No, no, Severus," Lucius drawled. "Let him have her. It's time my son became a man. Salazar knows he's in dire need of some redemption." Draco cast his eyes to the ground in shame as his father pinned him with a glare.

Lily couldn't take any more of their bickering. She sprang forward, curses slipping off her tongue. She would show them what a Mudblood was capable of. She would avenge her son.


	23. And How to Lose One

Chapter 22: And How to Lose One

• − ○ ◊ AU Harry ◊ ○ − •

As chaos reigned across the grounds of Hogwarts, two Harry's remained motionless at its core. One was sprawled in the grass, eyes glassy and unseeing, while the other stood beside him, eyes wide as though he were seeing far too much. And in a way, he was. He rotated on the spot, mouth ajar as he watched the witches and wizards around him and struggled to process what he was seeing.

Their chests were glowing. Everyone had a golden mass of pulsing light at the center of their being, flickering along with their heartbeats. Those still fighting had souls that were so bright they was difficult to look at, while figures on the ground had lights that were waning and fading, or not there at all.

This is what it meant to be Master of Death. To be a witness of the very essence of humanity. To gaze upon the very souls of his fellows.

His gaze fell upon Voldemort. He had just one mangled fragment of a soul inside him, stained a violent shade of red. There was a throbbing mess of smoldering black tethers trailing after him. Only one tether was taut. It led straight to Nagini, and he could see within her two souls; the golden one was hers, while the small red fragment beside it was clearly Voldemort's.

The sight filled him with revulsion. How could Voldemort have done that too himself – and to another living thing? The souls of those around him were beautiful and pure, pulsing with each other in some secret rhythm, all of them belonging in a way that Voldemort's raped soul did not. It was an abomination upon nature itself.

And to think that in another life, Voldemort had forced that onto Harry as well.

Harry fell beside his counterpart in despair. His soul was still there, flickering like a candle in a strong wind, dangerously close to being snuffed out. His counterpart's soul was marked red where a fragment had been gouged out. A tether stretched from his soul straight upward into the heavens, undoubtedly tying him to his horcrux in his universe. It was sickening to look at, but Harry was more concerned by his soul that was fading almost imperceptibly.

How was this possible? How was he dying when his horcrux should be tying him to life? Harry had to do something. There had to be a way. He couldn't become Master of Death just to let his counterpart die.

His gripped his counterpart, heart thumping. Desperate to try anything, he tentatively reached out and grasped his counterpart's soul, painfully aware that he had no idea what he was doing. One wrong move and who knows what destruction he could cause?

The soul quivered in his hands. He froze in awe. He could feel its warmth, it's very life essence, but he could also cooling quickly. Following his instincts, he leaned in a blew as though he was stoking a fire, and his counterpart's soul responded in kind, roaring to life.

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

There was a train.

The thought came to him all at once, yet he felt as though he'd known it all his life. It was the Hogwarts Express, blanketed in white and bathed in a glow that made its interior too blinding to distinguish. Its doors were cast open expectantly. He was seated on a bench before it, waiting. It felt as though he had both just woken up and been sitting here, waiting, for a very, very long time.

Was the train waiting for him, or was he waiting for the train?

He glanced around the station, squinting through the evanescent glow permeating the world. He'd never seen the platform so empty. He was the only soul there. The still silence of the station gave him the impression that he was the only soul _anywhere_.

And just as he was beginning to feel very alone, there was a voice.

"Harry?"

A soft voice, full of hope and fear and confusion.

Two figures emerged from the train. He didn't need to see them to know who they were. He'd know from the voice. His parents. Not the alternate James and Lily, but his real parents, not a day older than twenty-one. They were smiling at him with hungry looks in their eyes.

"Am – am I dead?" he asked with a mixture of hope and confusion rising in his chest.

James shook his head. "Not quite."

Harry slowly got to his feet. He was barely three strides away from his parents. His real parents.

"Where am I? Why wasn't I ripped from my body like Voldemort was?"

"Magic is a funny thing," Lily said, her voice ringing like bells. "Sometimes mere intent can make all the difference. You made a sacrifice, so you were rewarded."

"So, it worked? The others – are they protected?"

"Yes, your sacrifice worked," said James, smiling proudly. "They're safe from Voldemort, and now you have a choice, son. You can go back, if you wish, or you can come with us."

"But… my soul."

"We can repair it," Lily said earnestly, reaching tentatively out to him. "We're in the In-Between, here. Between universes, beyond the laws of the natural world. You can be whole again, and then we can board the train. Together."

"Where will it take us?"

Lily gave him a bittersweet smile, eyes glistening. "Somewhere you can rest."

A lump formed in the back of his throat. He swallowed it down. "But what will happen to the others? Everyone I leave behind?"

"You won't know. You can't know," said James.

Harry felt a strange, distant tugging in his chest. He was a kind of tired he felt in his bones. He was ready to board that train. He was ready to be done. To be home.

He gazed at his parents, hungrily drinking in every detail. They looked just like they had in the photographs. James was a tall, thin young man with dark tousled hair and square glasses. They were nearly the same height. The age difference was so slight they could have been brothers. Lily beside him was simply beautiful with her dark red hair and her eyes just like his – or how his used to be. His eyes hadn't been like hers for a long time.

"What have you seen? How much do you know?" he asked quietly.

"Everything," said James.

Harry's stomach twisted. "You must hate me."

"We're so proud of you, Harry," Lily said. "You've been so strong."

"Don't you care?" he asked, hands bunching into fists. "Don't you care about everything I've done? What I've become?"

"You are exactly who you are meant to be, Harry," said James. "You are more than what Voldemort has done to you. Look at what you have just done. You were willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of your family. You are exactly the kind of man I had always hoped you would be."

Harry bit down on his lip and averted his gaze, unable to stand his words. His eyes went to the Hogwarts Express, still waiting in anticipation to take him somewhere better. Somewhere he belonged.

"Will I get to be with you?"

"Yes, Harry," Lily said, her face cracking a thousand emotions. "We'll never be parted again."

She reached out, ready to take hold of him, and he realised in that moment that there was no hesitation within him. He was ready to be taken hold of. Before she could, the tugging in his chest crescendoed, yanking him away from them.

"What – what's happening?" he cried. He tried to reach out to them, but they were held just beyond his grasp.

"You're being pulled back to the world of the living," James said, frowning. "I'm sorry, Harry. I really thought you'd get to choose."

"No! No – I don't want to go back," he said frantically, but the pull grew and grew. "You said I could stay. I want to stay!"

"Be strong, Harry, please be strong," Lily cried, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Trust your counterpart. Let your parents help you. They'll find a way! We will always–"

His eyes snapped open and his parents were replaced by a dark sky full of smoke.

"Mum!" he cried, screwing his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to get back to that brilliant white world, but he only found a chaotic blackness beneath his eyelids. The stench of smoke of singed magic filled his nostrils. The cacophony of war filled his eardrums.

It was too soon.

It wasn't enough.

His counterpart was staring down at him in awe with his hands pressed against Harry's chest. Beneath one hand was the Resurrection Stone, while beneath his other was the Elder Wand, while draped over his shoulders was the Cloak of Invisibility. All at once Harry understood exactly what had happened.

"You meddling bastard!" he snarled, seizing his counterpart by the front of his robes. "Why didn't you leave me there? _Why didn't you leave me there!_?"

"I saved your life!" his counterpart burst out.

Harry lurched up and slammed his counterpart onto his back. "Send me back," he growled down at him, voice cracking. "They were right there! _Please_!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" his counterpart wheezed, utterly bewildered.

Harry punched him right in his meddling face. His counterpart groaned and coughed incredulously, then retaliated with a blow to Harry's gut. The air left him in a whoof, and suddenly the two of them were brawling on the ground.

Harry barely registered his counterpart's blows. He barely had the brain power even to try and block them. Everything in his mind was a red haze. The beast – the dragon – roared in his chest. All he knew was that his stupid childish counterpart had just taken away everything he'd ever fucking wanted. He pounded his fists into his counterpart, and his counterpart returned the onslaught with a vengeance.

He only stopped when he realized his counterpart's blows had stopped coming. He'd gone deathly still beneath Harry. His eyes darted between Harry and something over his shoulder, his breathing ragged and his eyes wide with fear.

It was then that Harry registered the pain lighting up his scar, and the force sucking at his magical core.

He stiffened, going so still he could feel his own heartbeat marching relentlessly, mercilessly onward. He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know who was behind him.

"Get up, Potter."

His eyes closed, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists around his counterpart's robes, he let his head hang in defeat, overwhelmed by the childish impression of just how _unfair_ this was. He'd been so close. So close to freedom, to death, to everything he'd ever wanted. Now he was back on earth underneath the Dark Lord's thumb.

"Get. Up."

Harry compelled his body into action, his movements stiff and rebelling against every effort. He gave his counterpart one last spiteful shove, pinning him with his iciest glare, and forced himself to his feet. He swallowed down the crushing disappointment, and as he turned to face the ethereal, smoky form of the Voldemort from his universe looming over him, he squashed down everything that had been overwhelming him became a soldier.

Voldemort surveyed his surroundings with an indifferent eye. "Is my counterpart mortal?"

"It's just Nagini and him."

Voldemort's lip curled. "Then why aren't you tussling with her instead of your idiot counterpart?"

Harry said nothing. He retrieved his wand and the fang from the grass, stepping over his counterpart to do so, who was still frozen on the ground. He looked terrified. Terrified for him. Harry ignored his counterpart and, upon spying Nagini by the lake, marched decisively in her direction. He had to force one foot in front of the other.

He weaved and dodged his way across the battle scene, still with a vague sense of detachment from everything around him. He ducked as the Weasley Twins zoomed past on broomsticks, leaving a shower of firebombs in their wake that latched themselves onto the surrounding Death Eaters and exploded, causing the Death Eaters to burst into fire and run screaming for the lake.

Over by the Whomping Willow, Remus was helping a disheveled Peter to his feet while Sirius fended off Rudolphus several feet away, a taunting grin on his face. Harry passed Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, who had their backs to a young boy, clustering him in the center of their ring to protect him from Bellatrix Lestrange's crazed assault.

Most of the Order were facing off against Voldemort by the Entrance, with Dumbledore leading the charge. Harry flinched when a Voldemort's Confringo blasted Kingsley in the chest, but it shattered against him to no affect. He hadn't even tried to block it.

Harry realized with a start that his sacrifice really had worked. Voldemort's curses were meaningless to them.

It was a little easier to put one foot in front of the other with that knowledge at the forefront of his mind. He could feel his Voldemort's presence at his back, but he didn't turn to look. Nagini had a woman cornered against by the water's edge. She lunged, the woman screamed, but Nagini's fangs clanged off her chest as though the woman were forged of stone. Harry grinned. His sacrifice protected them from Nagini as well.

He sent a stunner at her. Nagini's head snapped to him, and immediately the woman was forgotten, darting toward him with a confidence that was no doubt due to the success of their last encounter.

Harry didn't wait for her to strike. He lunged to meet her and brought down the fang, but she evaded him with ease, striking him against the ribs for good measure. She coiled around herself and gave him a spitting hiss, as though daring him to try that again.

"Fool," Voldemort muttered as Harry gasped for breath. He stepped between Harry and Nagini and knelt down tenderly before her. "Nagini, my beautiful girl, be still."

Nagini paused. Her head twitched to the side as she listened, tongue flicking at Voldemort. He continued to murmur in Parceltongue as Harry dragged himself to his feet. He crept toward her cautiously, but now she took no notice of him, entranced by her master's words.

Harry brought the fang down upon her head like a dagger, skewering her skull and forcing her head into the ground. She let out a gut-wrenching, high-pitched wail of a hiss, body flailing and thrashing. Harry struggled to keep hold of the fang pressed against her head until finally the life bled from her and she was still.

Harry sat back with relief and flung the fang away from himself. Voldemort remained where he was, kneeling before Nagini, and did not move for a long moment, his eyes trained on Nagini's corpse with a cold expression.

Finally, he straightened and glared at Harry. "Let us end this once and for all, Potter."

Harry followed in kind, but as he stood he swayed dizzily, his vision clouding over for a moment. Nagini's venom was still in his veins. He wanted this over with just as much as Voldemort did. And he was close. Nagini was the seventh horcrux. Voldemort was mortal. He was so close. He knew this would be the hardest part, though, and he was already weak from venom. He swallowed hard a surveyed the battlefield, searching for Voldemort.

Before he could find the Dark lord, a scream he only ever heard in his nightmares split the air.

Lily.

He was moving before Voldemort could stop him, scanning the chaos around him, when he came upon a truly baffling sight. He froze in place, utterly dumbfounded. He chose to believe the snake venom was making him hallucinate.

Severus Snape was keeled over in the grass, sobbing and rocking back and forth with the lifeless form of Lily Potter cradled in his arms. Her eyes were open, the green of her irises dull and sightless, her skin already a pale pallor.

His sacrifice had been for nothing.

All he could do was stare as Snape wept and muttered over his lifeless mother, so overcome with confusion and repulsion and horror that he couldn't move. James, however, was not suffering from the same affliction.

"No, no, no, no, what have you done? What did you do?" he howled, thundering toward Snape. "Lily!"

"I - I didn't... Lucius cast – before I could–" he gibbered, holding Lily close.

"You slimy, slithering, sniveling bastard! You killed her! YOU KILLED HER!"

"No – I swear – I tried–"

"Get away from her! Get your filthy hands off her you _bastard_!" James growled, blasting a curse at Snape.

"This is _your_ fault!" Snape lashed out, dodging the curse. He let Lily's form fall to the ground and stumbled to his feet, jabbing his wand at James. "You were supposed to protect her. You failed her. You – you wanted her all to yourself and now look what you've done!"

James roared with fury and the two of them were trading curses over Lily's body. Harry started forward, desperate to do something – anything – but Voldemort materialized in front of him and shoved him back.

"This is not your fight, Potter," he snarled. "My alternate self is mortal. _Finish him._"

Harry glared at Voldemort, his vision blurry with tears, his brain muzzy with poison and his heart breaking with grief. This can't be happening. His sacrifice was supposed to protect Lily. It was supposed to protect all of them.

Protect them from Voldemort. Not his Death Eaters.

He spied Voldemort by the Entrance, locked in battle with Dumbledore. Harry wanted to scream, to drop to his knees and pound the earth until it opened up and swallowed him whole. Instead, he ran.

Voldemort was struggling. His curses had no effect on Dumbledore and the Order. The Dark Lord was, perhaps for the first time in his life, dueling entirely on the defensive. The Order had him penned in with his back to the outer wall of the Great Hall, red eyes flashing with unhinged fury as he blocked and dodged their curses.

Harry saw Lily's dull eyes. He heard James' snarls of grief. He saw Holly's trembling hand holding the Cat. He felt the beast stir in his gut. The dragon. He leapt into the air on instinct and transformed, sweeping upward with an animalistic screech before plunging down upon the Dark Lord.

Voldemort cast a shield just as Harry's fiery breath enveloped him. Harry twisted in the air and touched back down in front of Dumbledore, transforming back into himself. He gathered every bit of hatred and anguish he had inside him.

"Are you afraid of me now?" he snarled.

Voldemort eyes widened in shock. There is was again. Surprise. Harry raised his hands, thinking of nothing but pain and hatred and suffering, and the brilliant green curse thundered from his fingertips. Voldemort tried to evade it. He tried to duck, to run, to Apparate, but the blast was too large, too powerful, too quick. There was a blinding flash, a sizzling boom, and Voldemort fell forward onto the ground, his black robes billowing in his wake.

Just like that.

Harry stared at Voldemort's body, hardly daring to believe it. The chaos that had been overwhelming the school had dissipated all at once. Now, with Voldemort's body lying face-down in the grass, it was stillness that reigned. It was so quiet he could hear the ringing in his ears.

This did not feel like a victory. When he turned, he realized why. All the battles had ceased. All eyes had turned his way, to the Champion of Worlds and the visceral figure of Lord Voldemort standing beside him.

Harry turned and met Voldemort's gaze, who stared back at him with cold, narrowed eyes. Dread pooled in the pit of Harry's gut at the sight of those eyes. His grip on his wand loosened and he took a subconscious step away from the corpse.

It didn't matter that this was an alternate Voldemort in another world on a parallel timeline.

Harry Potter had just killed Lord Voldemort.

Harry Potter was _capable_ of killing Lord Voldemort.

And now both of them knew it.

Voldemort turned from Harry dismissively, as though deciding that he would be dealt with later. His red eyes locked onto Dumbledore.

"Your Champion has completed the task for which you abducted him. You will return him at once."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose, regarding Voldemort with a guarded expression. "A battlefield is no place for such conversations. Allow us to further the matter in my office."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore, but said stiffly, "Very well."

He turned to Harry, who tensed. The world was going fuzzy and indistinct, as though he was dreaming with his eyes open. It made him feel off-balance and out of control. Voldemort grasped his shoulder and the world spun away with a sickening lurch.

When it righted itself, Harry found himself in the Headmaster's Office. Fawkes squawked in surprise at their arrival, ruffling his feathers indignantly. Harry gripped Dumbledore's desk to steady himself against the wave of dizziness that washed over him.

A pop, and Dumbledore appeared. "I was not aware of your ability to Apparate within my school," he said as he sat heavily behind his desk. He looked haggard. Old in a way Harry and had never envisioned him. His eyes swept cautiously between Harry and Voldemort.

"I am not a part of this world and therefore not subject to its limitations," Voldemort said dismissively. "I demand my soldier's return."

Dumbledore's eyes shifted to Harry. Harry refused to meet them. He stared at the grains in Dumbledore's desk, shame clouding his brain. The adrenaline was wearing off, and with it he was beginning to remember that he had been poisoned. It didn't help that Voldemort was leeching off his magical core.

"You must understand that returning him is no simple feat," Dumbledore said slowly. "The returning ritual requires a complex rune to be drawn, which will take time to perfect. Trust me when I say that rushing this task and making errors will result in disastrous consequences for both our universes."

Harry's scar twinged. "Were you aware of this?" Voldemort hissed at him. "How many months have you been here? All that time you could have been preparing this ritual to be enacted the moment you were able. Fool. Did you not think to discover the details of your return?"

"You didn't either," Harry retorted, then gasped at the lick of pain that shot through his scar.

"Very shrewd of you, Albus. I don't care what needs to be done, you will enact this ritual as soon as possible. I'm giving you three days to prepare it."

"Like hell we will," said James, bursting through the door. He was gaunt and bloody, his eyes rimmed red from tears that had carved streaks down his face. He immediately went to Harry, holding his arms out to support his unsteady son.

The Cruciatus Curse ripped through him, lighting his skin on fire and setting every atom inside his body ablaze. It was quick, though. It would have been barely ten seconds, but it still left him keeled over on the floor and gasping for breath. James was crouched over him, gripping him with both hands.

"Get your hands off my soldier, or we'll be conducting the rest of this conversation of his screams."

James glowered up at him, holding Harry tighter. "My son is not your soldier.

Voldemort gave him a serpentine smile. "Wrong on two counts, Potter. He most certainly is my soldier, and what's more it would be more accurate to describe him as my son than yours, connected unfathomably as we are."

_"You bastard–_" James began, but if he had continued it was lost on Harry as the Cruciatus overwhelmed him once more. He lost all sense as his body erupted with pain. He locked his jaw shut against the searing hot knives on every inch of his body and when he resurfaced he was on his back, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. James was silently fuming several paces away from him.

"There, that's better," said Voldemort. "I'll be shown some respect."

Humiliation churned in Harry's gut at being used like some scapegoat – his pain merely a punishment for others. He forced himself to his feet, his muscles heavy with exhaustion.

James watched him struggle to get up, clearly desperate to support him. His expression set with determination and he darted to the bookshelf behind Dumbledore's desk. He yanked a pale black tomb from the rest and held his wand to it, a small blue flame flickering from its end.

"I'll destroy it," he announced. "The ritual will be gone forever and he'll never be in your hands again."

Dumbledore slowly rose from his seat. "Now, James. Be rational."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Think carefully about your actions, Potter."

Harry's heart sank. What could James be thinking? He wasn't thinking. He was grieving and desperate. Harry raised his wand.

"Dad, just put the book down," Harry said, fighting to get the words out through the lump in his throat. Maybe it was the snake venom's fault.

"Harry..." James murmured, his voice low and pleading. But what was he pleading? Neither of them had any choice. Harry cast an Accio and James let the tomb sail out of his grip. Harry caught it and dropped it onto Dumbledore's desk with a heavy thud. James just shook his head. "Why?"

"Shall I spell it out for him, Harry?" Voldemort asked, casting Harry an amused glance. He lifted Harry's horcrux from around his neck and let the pendant dangle from its chain for James to see. "I trust you recognize this. There is nothing that boy won't do to protect this shard of his soul. I will not hesitate to destroy it if he is not returned, and I daresay he will barely wish to live after the act is done. What's more, back home I have an entire army of soldiers Potter is somewhat irrationally attached to. I will dispose of all of them, one a day, until he is back within my grasp. Do I need to go on?"

The muscles in James' face were contorting with suppressed rage. He glowered at Voldemort but he said nothing.

"That's what I thought. What am I, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, to say the words he knew Voldemort was demanding of him, but he couldn't, and not because he'd been poisoned by some snake but because the words themselves were poison.

"Master," Harry ground out in the direction of his feet.

"Precisely."

_"How dare you do this to him,_" James muttered, red in the face.

Voldemort's smile never wavered. "You needn't worry for Harry. He is perfectly safe under my control. It is you who have torn him from where he belongs and put him in peril more times than I care to count."

"Oh, Tom," Dumbledore spoke up. "Do you really not see the irony in scolding us for taking the boy and putting him in a fight that isn't his? For all our faults, not once did we feel the need to tear the very fabric of his being in two."

"Ah, so you were content to let him die for your foolish cause, while I have ensured he will outlive you all."

Harry couldn't believe they were actually arguing over who was the lesser of two evils. He twisted away from the lot of them in disgust and stumbled to the opposite end of the room. He was done with the puppeteers. Let the discuss the semantics of exactly how his strings should be yanked without him.

He braced himself against the wall and tried to focus on his breathing, but his knees decided standing was far too difficult and he slid to the floor. Spots were appearing before his vision again, his brain heavy and clouded, as though his thoughts had to fight their way through a thick fog. He closed his eyes, willing the darkness to take him.

Time passed slowly. The puppeteers' conversation dimmed in his ears, and painfully slowly he could feel his body succumbing to exhaustion. He welcomed it with relief until a presence too close by for comfort jarred him into wakefulness.

"Try to stay awake, Harry," Daphne murmured, cupping the side of his face in her hand and staring closely at his eyes. She lifted a vial filled with a shimmering blue liquid to his lips. "Drink this."

The potion was sweet and soothing and filled his stomach with warmth. He closed his eyes and savoured it, feeling the warmth drag him down. A pinch from Daphne and his eyes jerked open.

"I said _awake_, Potter," she said. He moaned in complaint. "Where did Nagini get you?"

"Eve'where," Harry mumbled. "She... She got me good."

"She certainly did," Daphne murmured. She inspected the welts on his chest and shoulder with a sickly expression. She uncorked a fat, round glass and dipped her hand into a brown, jelly-like potion. With a grimace, she smeared it on the bite on his shoulder. It sent a shock of pain through his chest, but Harry barely reacted. Pain felt like a faraway thing.

Daphne set to work treating his bites. Dumbledore and Voldemort were discussing the ritual, pointing to the open book that lay between them while James stood between them, dividing his time between glaring at Voldemort and casting worried glances in Harry's direction.

Harry didn't want to think about James, so he watched Daphne's face while she worked. She'd gone very pale, her face screwed up in disgust and wincing every time she applied another dab. A lock of hair fell into her face. When she tucked it back, she inadvertently scraped her cheek with a slash of Harry's blood.

"You..."

He reached to wipe the stain away, fingers juddering, but he only smudged even more blood and grit from his hand across her face. She caught him gently by the wrist before he could do any more damage and set to work cleaning and treating the bite on his forearm, wiping off the blood that had caked into his skin with her sleeve.

"You're sweet when you're delirious, Harry," she said with a small, private smile.

A shadow fell over them.

"What are you doing, girl?" Voldemort asked, looking down his nose at Daphne.

Daphne stiffened. "Stopping your soldier from falling into a coma."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed as he stared down at her, saying nothing. Daphne took the hint and ducked out of the way, scooping up her potions as she went. Voldemort took her place and knelt unnervingly close. Harry shifted in discomfort, pressing himself into the wall.

"Made some friends, have we?" he asked with a rueful smile. "Let's hope you haven't become too attached."

He snatched Harry's wrist and frowned at the bite on his forearm. Blood still trickled from it in dark red lines, his veins protruding angrily from his pale skin. He pulled back Harry's collar to inspect the wounds on his shoulder and chest next, then suddenly had Harry gripped by his skull with both hands. Harry jerked back, smacking his head painfully against the wall, but the Dark Lord's grip was firm. He pulled back the lid of Harry's eye, forcing Harry to stare into Voldemort's eyes as he gazed searchingly into his own.

"You'll be fine, Harry," he murmured. "Nagini's poison is not enough to kill, just enough to subdue her enemies long enough for her to devour them."

Harry's mind flooded with images of Voldemort unhinging his jaw and swallowing him whole.

"Now listen carefully," he hissed, causing Harry's scar to prickle. He had not relinquished his grip. "What you have accomplished in this world? It was a grotesque fluke. Do not dream for one second that you could carry out the same thing in my world. I am stronger – I am smarter, and I have already learnt from my counterpart's mistakes. You are mine, Harry. I trust you have not forgotten. Your counterpart and your ill-begotten family are nothing but–"

"I get it," Harry growled hoarsely. "I get it. This world is just a fantasy."

Voldemort relinquished his hold and withdrew from Harry. "Exactly right," he said. "You have done well, Potter. I fully expected you to be detained in this world for at least a year, but nevertheless I'm anxious to get you home. We have much to accomplish, and I have put far too many plans on hold in order to wait for you. You have three days to get back where you belong. I expect you to ensure Albus keeps to his word, or I will start killing soldiers – starting with the red-haired one."

Voldemort stood to face to occupants of the office and said before dissipating in a cloud of smoke, "Repair him. Return him. There will be no second chances."

* * *

Oh boy, I finally got to share my favourite scene. I've had that train scene written in various forms pretty much from the beginning and I'm glad I can finally say its finished! Let me know what you're thinking! We're at the very pointy end of the story but there's still plenty to happen...


	24. An Unexpected Visitor

**Chapter 23: An Unexpected Visitor**

• − ○ ◊ Harry ◊ ○ − •

Harry awoke from dreams of King's Cross Station. As the steady hubbub of a busy Infirmary filled his ears, he kept his eyes closed and tried to hold on to that sense of peace and completion. The feeling slipped away quickly, leaving in its wake a heavy headache. He opened his eyes reluctantly and watched the bustling Infirmary. Every bed was filled, with healers rushing about in an alert but orderly manner. He spotted Mrs Longbottom dealing out potions from her cupboard.

His counterpart was asleep in the cot beside him. Harry sat up in concern, the movement sending stabs of pain through the constellation of snakebites along his shoulder and chest, but his alternate self seemed unharmed. His Deathly Hallows sat in a neat pile on his bedside table.

The sight of them brought back in a rush all the memories of the previous night. Nagini's lightning-fast attacks. Meeting his parents in the afterlife. Lily's death. Killing Voldemort. The arrival of his world's Voldemort.

He jerked, shoving the memories and their accompanying emotions away.

_This world is a fantasy._

That's what he'd told Voldemort. That's what he'd told himself from the very beginning. That's what he had to tell himself to make any of what had to happen now even _remotely_ bearable.

He sat up stiffly and moaned a little. His ribs were bruised and tender to the touch, but he could not think of what had caused it. He was clothed but shirtless to make way for the thick bandages wrapped tightly over the bites. The same had been done for the bite on his forearm. There were already two spots of red staining the white. He supposed Nagini's venom was cursed to keep the wound open as long as possible.

He got up, swayed for a moment, and after his vision cleared, he ducked easily past the distracted Healers and out into a unnervingly quiet hallway. It was deafeningly still, in a way that stretched beyond just the hallway. The school was silent in the aftermath of the attack. The few witches or wizards he passed felt like ghosts, weary and solemn, and refusing to meet his gaze.

He entered Dumbledore's office to find the wizened wizard bent over the rune designs for the ritual that would send him home. He started at Harry's arrival, but then leant back and looked genuinely relieved.

"Harry, how are you, my brave young man? You are just the person I wish to speak with. Won't you have a seat."

"I've just come for the book, Professor," said Harry, gesturing to the rune designs. "Voldemort doesn't enjoy being kept waiting."

"Please, Mr Potter. Won't you humour an old man?"

Harry hesitated only a moment before sitting. Dumbledore closed the book and nudged a bowl of lollies toward him.

"Sherbet lemon?"

Harry plucked one from the bowl. It made his whole mouth tingle. It was the taste of nostalgia. Dumbledore followed in kind and took a moment to savour his.

"Mm, I do love sherbet. It was a particular favourite of my dear sister's, also. Sometimes a sherbet lemon as a bribe was the only way I could coax her out of her shell. I won't bore you with the sordid details of my family history, but what I learned from my sister most profoundly was the value of kindness." He shifted the bowl to a more prominent position. "I thought keeping a dish of her favourite sweets on my desk would be a constant reminder of that, but I must confess that I have forgotten to offer you one on every single occasion. For that I owe you an apology."

"I can manage without sweets, Professor. I really just need–" he reached for the book, but Dumbledore set his hand firmly upon it.

"No, Harry. I won't let you spend what little time you have left in this world labouring over a rune design in the frigid squalor of our dungeons."

The solemnity of his tone unnerved him. "This has to be done."

"And I am more than happy to. I am more than capable. I drew the rune that brought you here, after all. And a ritual of this complexity rather requires an experienced hand. Please, go and be with your family."

"What's left of my family."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he immediately regretted it for the look that came over Dumbledore.

"Indeed," he said, voice heavy with sympathy. "What a perfectly wretched circumstance. No one should have to experience the death of the same loved one twice in one lifetime."

In that moment Harry despised Dumbledore for the sorrow in his eyes and the compassion in his words. He hadn't experienced the death of his mother again. He'd been the cause of it. _Again._ And Dumbledore was the reason he was here in the first place. Dumbledore was the one who was supposed to protect them. He should have known.

"Last night you were arguing with Voldemort over who was more at fault. You are. You're supposed to be better. You're supposed to save people."

"I understand," said Dumbledore. "We all have those in our lives who we hold up to a higher standard. But the truth is that I am in many respects a foolish old man. I'm sorry I failed you… In this world, and in yours, but it is folly to believe that all lives can be saved in a war. Despite my many faults, Voldemort has been vanquished and the world is safe. Sacrifice is a necessary, though unfortunate fact of war."

Harry stared at Dumbledore's desk. He supposed that it was exactly what he expected him to say. This was Dumbledore. His mentor, his hero. Beneath Voldemort's rule, he'd come to idolize the late Albus Dumbledore as a beacon of light whose demise had been the tragic catalyst for the era of darkness that followed.

The truth was that Dumbledore was a man like the rest of them. His did what he thought was right, but in the end he was human, which meant he was fallible. Just as Harry was.

That didn't mean he was capable of forgiving him, though.

"You know the virtues of sacrifice better than anyone," continued Dumbledore. "I saw what you did last night. Your great act of sacrifice, and love, saved a great deal of lives. You have truly gone beyond your role as Champion of Worlds. I could not have hoped for a more deserving hero, so I thank you."

"I am _not_ a–"

"You are, Harry. You are. Which is why I must also apologise. Somewhere along the way I forgot that you are, in many respects, just a boy. Yet I treated you as a dangerous wizard who needed to be kept in line. It was foolish of me, but I will not ask your forgiveness though I am sorely in need of it. Now please, go and find your family. I will get started on this rune momentarily, and it will be completed with plenty of time to spare."

Harry sighed, stood, a plucked a handful of sweets from the bowl. He hesitated, but could not think of anything to say to his old mentor, so he averted his gaze and stalked from the office. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He found that he really did, in fact, want to find his family. He could only imagine how they were coping with the loss of Lily. He didn't know where James and Holly would be, but he could at least check if his counterpart was a awake.

When he arrived back at the Infirmary, he found his counterpart still in bed, ensconced in a three-way embrace with Holly and James, heads bowed in shared grief. Harry stopped short and backtracked as quietly as he could. He could not stand to inflict his presence upon them. Not now. Not like this. Not when their grief was his fault.

"Don't you dare, Harry," came James' voice. He lifted his head. His eyes were rimmed red and his skin was pale. He looked beyond exhausted. "Come here."

Harry reluctantly joined them. James stood and gave him a fierce embrace before holding him at arm's length, his hands grasping his shoulders so that they looked eye-to-eye. He looked as though he was going to say something, his mouth opening and closing, but then he just enveloped him in another bone-crushing embrace, as though everything could be made okay if only he could hold Harry close enough.

"You're okay, Harry," said James when he finally drew back. His eyes were blazing with the same determination he had seen last night. "We're going to figure this out. You're going to get through this. He turned partially to his counterpart and Holly and gripped Holly's hand. "We're all going to get through this."

"How?" Holly asked, her voice bitter. "In a few days we'll never see Dark Harry again."

"Yes, we will," James said. He sat heavily in the chair beside the cot. "There's got to be a way. We just have to find it."

He rested his chin in his hand and scowled at the far wall. His scheming expression was so determined that Harry couldn't bring himself to voice the fact that Holly was right, and nothing could change that, so instead he turned to his counterpart.

"What are you doing in here, Mr. Master of Death?"

"He exhausted himself trying to bring people back from the dead," said Holly.

His counterpart focused his attention on his hands. "Well, I brought one person back, didn't I? So I thought… but even as the bloody Master of Death I'm not even strong enough to save my own Mum."

"You can't bring people back from the dead," said James.

"I brought him back, didn't I?" Harry said. A touch of hysteria edged into his voice as he angrily gesticulated at Harry.

"I wasn't actually dead," said Harry. "I sacrificed myself to Voldemort to protect all of you from him, and I guess because of that I was given the choice to live or die, but you made the decision for me. Mum would not have gotten a choice."

His counterpart continued to glare bitterly at his hands. Harry could almost hear the accusations.

"I'm sorry. She's dead because of me. If I hadn't done that–"

"Don't be ridiculous," his counterpart muttered. "You probably saved countless lives with what you did. Mum's actions were her own."

"But she was the reason I did that in the first place!" Harry insisted. "If I had known–"

"But you _couldn't_ have known, so stop it! I'm the one who became Master of Death and then watched her–"

"Enough," James growled. "Merlin, I don't think you've ever been more difficult to tell apart than in this moment. Sons, this is just… life. Sometimes the unthinkable happens despite your best intentions. There is no doubt in my mind that either of you would have laid down your lives for your mother, but sometimes that just isn't enough. Nothing is enough. Life is chaos. You can't fight it. You can't bargain with it. You just have to accept it."

James fell silent and stared at the floor. Harry He wondered how much of that he needed to hear for himself as well. He had never seen his father look so defeated. It was disconcerting.

A heavy silence befell them.

"Did it hurt?" Holly asked quietly, staring intently at Harry. "Would it have hurt when Mum…"

Harry swallowed back the lump in his throat. "No. It didn't hurt," he murmured. "It… happens slower than you would think. I remember falling, and for an instant all I could do was look at the sky. I couldn't feel my body, but I could still see the smoke and embers in the sky. Then all I could sense was the smell of ash. It was as though that was all there was to the universe. All that existed was the smell of ash and singed magic… and then I saw them."

"Saw who?"

Harry blinked, brows furrowing. "My counterpart staring down at me," he said quickly. "But death isn't a permanent state. You die, and then you become something else."

"What do you become?"

Harry shrugged. "You only find out when you get there. It doesn't hurt. It was peaceful. It felt right. I knew it was to make sure all of you could have better lives."

James let out a breath, and whether is was a sigh of awe or exasperation Harry couldn't tell.

"You truly astonish me, harry. That you would go and do something like that…" he trailed off, struggling to find the words. "After everything you've been through… I can't decide whether I'm more angry at you for having so little concern for your own life, or proud of you for being precisely then man I'd hoped you would be."

Harry jolted as James' words mirrored his ghostly counterpart's. he shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm not a hero, James. I barely knew what I was doing. I was high on snake venom."

His counterpart snorted. "Are you telling me you sacrificed yourself for the good of the Wizarding World because you were tripping?"

"Something like that," Harry muttered, thinking of Lily's red hair flailing behind her.

Mrs Longbottom approached them hesitantly, holding a vial and a roll of gauze. "Excuse me for interrupting, Potters, but Harry, your bandages are bleeding through."

Harry glanced down and saw that his bandages were peppered with red dots grouped in twos. He sat on the cot he'd woken up on and allowed Mrs Longbottom to cut his bandages free.

"I should heal those bruises as well," she said as she applied a salve to the bites. "What caused them?"

"I have no idea," Harry said honestly.

"Oh, er, I think those might be my fault," his counterpart said sheepishly. When Harry just stared at him he said, "I was really angry at you for being dead."

"So you chose to pound the death out of me?"

"Pretty much, yeah," he said. "I hadn't figured out what my Master of Death abilities were yet. I actually don't think I would have awakened them at all if I hadn't watched you…"

"You mean the powers are like seeing Thestrals. You can't until you've seen death?" continued Holly.

His counterpart stared at her and then laughed a little. It was the kind of laugh that came right before you burst out crying. "I always did want to be able to see Thestrals."

Harry kept his eyes on the ground as Mrs Longbottom wrapped him in fresh bandages. He could not afford to get swept up in his emotions now. There were far too many of them. They felt like a tidal wave, a tangled mess he couldn't even begin to sort through without fear of being completely engulfed. He couldn't sit here much longer. When Mrs Longbottom finished and handed him a clean shirt, he put it on quickly and got to his feet.

"Where are you going?" asked his counterpart.

"To see if Dumbledore needs help with the rune," said Harry.

James sighed and was about to say something, but Holly spoke first.

"How do you do it?" she asked. "How do you just deal with it and carry on?"

Harry noticed how she and his counterpart were leaning on each other. How James was bowed forward in exhaustion. The three of them looked as though they could not bring themselves to do anything more than simply sit and exist.

"Holly, if you're looking for someone to be a pillar of comfort and emotional support during a time of hardship, you're looking to the wrong person."

"But aren't you tired?"

Harry shook his head in exasperation. "Of course I am. How do I deal with it? I don't. How do I carry on? Because I have no choice. I just – _oh bloody hell._"

He flinched at the tell-tale sensation of something tugging on his magical core that meant a visit from Voldemort was imminent. James, Holly, and his counterpart all sat up in alarm. His hands went reflexively to the runes, but they'd been deactivated. How was Voldemort doing this? Come to think of it, how had he done this last night?

"Leave me alone," he muttered as he retreated from his family and made a bid for the exit. Voldemort clearly didn't intend on letting Harry spend time with his family, and he wasn't about to let his family be yet another witness of whatever threats Voldemort had for him. Harry screwed his eyes shut in frustration. What could he possibly want now?

Before he could get to the doors, however, he heard a groan that was decided un-Voldemort-like. He whirled around and watched along with every other occupant of the Infirmary as the smoke materialised and took shape. Ron surveyed his smoky form in wonder. He swished his hands back and forth, watching how the smoke roiled through the air before forming into his arm again.

"_Wicked_."

"Ron?" Harry asked incredulously.

Ron's head snapped up. He grinned. "Hey Scarface! You look…" he regarded harry for a moment and huffed a laugh. "About the same as usual."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Ron shrugged. "That's kind of a long story."

"Are you Ron Weasley? From Harry's universe?" asked James. He now stood at the foot of his counterpart's bed, gaping at Ron.

And Ron gawked right back at him. "Bloody hell," he muttered, looking James up and down as though he were some alien creature. "It's really true. You're in another bloody universe. Blimey, Harry. We came up with some crazy theories for where you'd gotten yourself to, but, well, they were all confined to the assumption that you still occupied the same plane of existence! This is on a whole other level."

"How do you even know about this?" Harry hissed. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Voldemort would hardly want to publicise the fact that he'd lost control of his most important soldier.

"Voldemort told me," said Ron uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was going crazy without you, mate. I thought you were being tortured or killed or something. So I caused a bit of trouble. I knew Voldemort knew where you were. He had us all searching for you and then suddenly gave up for seemingly no reason. Voldemort told me all about your little summoning eventually – after a few stints in the Straps of course."

Harry's breath caught. "You – he could have killed you."

Ron shrugged. "I had to know, Harry. I was going insane! And it really didn't take that much. You know, for all that he's a sadistic mastermind, Voldemort can be a little thick-headed. He actually thought he was goading me when he told me how much fun you've been having here. I guess he thought I'd be bitterly jealous or something."

"And then, what? He decided to send you on a holiday to prove it?" Harry said incredulously, gesturing to Ron's smoky form and their surroundings.

"Well, not exactly. I was coming back from an assignment last night, and I overheard him trying to 'connect' with you or something, but apparently nothing he did worked. Have you disabled your runes or something? Anyway, eventually he gave up and started putting all sorts of curses on his fireplace in the Throne Room. Then he used it as though he were using the Floo, but I assume he came here, right? So this morning I figured I'd give it a go."

"Bloody hell, now you really will be killed," Harry muttered. "What's wrong with you?"

Ron waved him off. "No, you've had your questions. Now I have just one question for you. It's been wracking my brains ever since Voldemort explained where you are and how you're getting back. Harry, given that you are currently more firmly outside of Voldemort's grasp than any of us could've ever dreamt of being, why the bloody fuck are you trying so hard to get back onto our shitty timeline?"

Harry rolled his eyes. He noticed that the rest of the Infirmary's occupants had made a good show of going back to their own business, but he knew they were all listening.

"Figure it out, Ron."

"I really can't," said Ron, cocking his head to the side in incredulous amusement. "What's gotten into you, Harry? Standing right there is the reincarnation of James Bloody Potter and honestly want to throw that away for what we've got?"

"Who do you think he'd kill first?" Harry snapped. "When I tell Voldemort 'thanks but no thanks' and start my new life here? He'll kill you, then Dean, then Neville and Seamus and whoever else he bloody wants!"

Ron shook his head and covered his face for a moment. He went very still, the smoke floating restless about his stocky form. He drew himself up to his full height and gave Harry a solemn, almost pitying look.

"So let him."

Harry jerked and immediately opened his mouth to argue, but Ron was louder, and angrier.

He jabbed his finger at Harry. "You of all people know there's nothing to live for in our world. What kind of life is this? Voldemort doesn't need us. He never needed us. This whole thing has just been about punishing our Blood Traitor parents and making our lives miserable because he gets off on human suffering. Our lives are a joke!"

"That doesn't mean I can let you die."

Ron sighed. "Mate. We're already dead. You know that, right? What we've been doing these past five years – that's not living. We died the moment Voldemort took us from Hogwarts. And we're probably better off that way. Neville's gone off the deep end. Dean's a bloody psychopath. And Seamus would kick a puppy if it meant he got another helping of gruel."

"And what about you?" Harry prompted. "You think you're better off dead?"

Ron stared hard at him and laughed tiredly. "Yeah, well, for once I get to be the noble git, don't I? You know how selfish I can be, Harry. So you know I'm being entirely sincere when I say this. Don't come back. Our lives are meaningless, but if it means that you can stay here then maybe our deaths can be worth something. If you come back, you won't be saving anyone. Please?"

Harry had never seen Ron this committed to anything in a long time. For a moment he tried to imagine it, living here while knowing what had happened in the universe next door.

"No, Ron," Harry said quietly. "You don't get to say what I'm willing to do for you. I couldn't live with myself."

Ron scoffed. "You always have to be the bloody hero, don't you?" he growled, showing Harry on the chest. "You're not the Chosen One, dear Scarface. You're not the Boy-Who-Lived. You're not a Saviour, you're a bloody soldier. Don't you get that? You failed! Voldemort won. You can't save us – but look! You can save yourself."

"Shut up, Ron–" Harry began, but Ron shoved him harder.

"The only reason I'm here is to convince you not to come back. Now let's not kid ourselves, we both know Voldemort will find out what I'm doing right now. I'm probably going to get a week in the Straps for this. If you come back, it will be all for nothing now won't it!"

"I didn't force you to come here," Harry retorted.

Ron tried to shove him, but Harry sidestepped him. So Ron wanted to settle this in the Cage? Fine. He plunged his fist into Ron's stomach, but in a sick defiance of reality his hand plunged straight through Ron's torso. Harry stumbled from his own momentum. He righted himself and the two stared at each other, understanding dawning on both of them. Ron nudged Harry experimentally with a perfectly solid finger.

"So this only works one way. Neat."

Harry did not like Ron's encroaching grin at all.

"Now, boys, let's just take a moment to–" James began

Harry dodged Ron's punch aimed at his guts. "Ron–" he instinctively – and stupidly – attempted to deflect Ron's next punch, but Ron's fist flowed through his forearm and connected with his jaw. He stumbled back, knocking over a trolley of potions in the process.

"What's your plan here," Ron?" he growled with his hand to his throbbing jaw.

Ron squared his shoulders. "Stop you from coming back. By any means necessary."

"Ron, that's enough," said James pacifyingly. "We've all been through an ordeal these past few days–"

"You're shitting me, right? Voldemort went into plenty of detail about your little Christmas parties and Quidditch games while I was hanging there in the Straps. Quite the trials of adversity you've been enduring, eh, Harry? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Harry laughed sardonically. "Oh yeah, it's been great fun. A wonderful holiday locking myself up in Azkaban and being tortured by Voldemort on _multiple_ occasions."

"Ron, please–"

Ron's fist plummeted into Harry's nose. A shock of pain rippled through his skull. His eyes immediately began watering as something wet dribbled down his face. Somehow the shock that Ron had actually broken his nose hurt more than the pain prickling through his sinuses.

"Damn it, Ron – I have a horcrux!" Harry exclaimed, holding one hand to his nose and the other out to Ron in surrender before he could lay any further into him.

Ron paused. "Where."

"No, Ron… Voldemort tore my soul in two. He made me a horcrux," he said through the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

He hated admitting this to Ron, admitting that coming back to his rightful universe was both selfless and utterly selfish. But it occurred to a tiny part of him that he had not been craving his soul nearly as much as he had when he'd first arrived in this universe. He still felt the chasm inside him, but it had somehow become easier to ignore.

"If I stay here, he'll destroy it, and there goes any chance of me ever having a happy life here regardless of whether he killed you or not."

Ron stared at him. "You're having me on."

"It's true," said James, handing Harry a handkerchief. "It's in the snake-and-lion pendant that Voldemort wears."

Ron stepped back as he processed this, staring at Harry as though he was seeing him for the first time. He turned, swore loudly and kicked the toppled potions trolly. Then he began to pace, his smoky tendrils roiling along with his frustration.

"Fucking piece of shit – bloody _bastard_ – how the _fuck_–"

As he agonised, James muttered the charm to snap Harry's nose back in place with a stab of pain.

"Ron, just go," said Harry as he touched his nose gingerly. "Leave before he knows you're here and we'll pretend this never happened."

"No, wait a second," said James. "Ron, you've seen this pendant, right?"

"Of course I have. I didn't know what it was, but Voldemort's never not wearing it, sadistic prick."

"How would you feel about stealing it?"

Ron paused in his pacing to stare at James. "To do what with it exactly?"

James bit his lip. "There's virtually no way you could bring it to this universe, but suppose you could just hide it. Stow it somewhere Voldemort could never hope to find it…"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Harry, his voice nasally from holding the handkerchief to his nose. "Ron, he'll kill you if you try."

"We've already established that I'm fine with that," Ron snapped. "Hiding would be easy enough. It would be getting it from him that's the hard part. He's bound to have cursed it."

"I used to know an excellent Cursebreaker. I could show you a few tricks," said James thoughtfully.

"You're seriously going to let him to this? It's suicide!" said Harry.

James glanced at Ron, uncertain. "I just…"

"I don't need his permission," Ron snapped. "I'm doing this. I can try at least. I already know the perfect spot to–"

"No, I'm not letting you–"

"You don't get to decide what I'm willing to do for you," said Ron. He turned decisively away from Harry, dismissive in the knowledge that Harry had no comeback to his own words. "It's one thing to break a curse, to do so without Voldemort noticing will be another."

"You could steal it in his sleep," his counterpart spoke up.

Ron blinked. "… I'm not sure he _does_ sleep."

"This is insane," Harry muttered, but he was effectively ignored.

"Hold on, even if you do hide it, couldn't Voldemort just Legilimense the location out of you? How well do you know Occlumency?" asked Holly.

"What's Occlumency?" Ron asked, making Holly face-palm.

"He can obliviate himself," said James. "But that brings up a bigger issue. Say Ron does manage to hide the horcrux and obliviate himself. How are we supposed to know? It's not likely Voldemort will just pop by to inform us his bargaining chip is gone. He could just fail to mention it and we'd be none the wiser."

"We need a signal," said his counterpart. "That we'll receive in this world."

"The Interconnecting Rune," said Ron. "You feel it even in this universe, right."

Harry answered by holding up his forearm with its deactivated runes for Ron to see. Ron raised his eyebrows.

"Okay… but you still feel when he's angry, right? In your scar. I'll just get him really angry."

"But how are you supposed to remember to make him angry if you've just obliviated yourself?" asked his counterpart.

Harry barked an incredulous laugh. "Enough of this. Please, Merlin this plan is so convoluted it couldn't possibly work."

"Harry, I love you, but if you're not going to contribute anything meaningful, be quiet," James said absently, brows furrowed in thought.

"James, Voldemort will find a way to punish all of us just for having this conversation."

James' fists clenched. "Voldemort is not _my_ master!" he growled. He might as well have slapped Harry in the face. James saw Harry's expression and forced the tension out of his shoulders. "I've already lost my wife, Harry. I'm not losing my son as well."

"Your son is right over–"

"_Don't you dare finish that sentence,"_ James hissed. "You are my son.

Harry clenched his jaw in frustration.

Ron glanced between then and laughed. "Merlin, this is adorable. You've got a father, Harry! Is he everything you hoped and dreamed he would be? Eleven-year-old-you must be absolutely _dying_."

"Shut up, Ron," said Harry. "I've had enough of this. You all have fun scheming Ron's death. I'm going to get myself some breakfast. Ron, it was nice knowing you."

He stalked off. None of them called him back. He didn't care if Ron got himself killed. _He didn't care._ Yet every step further away from the Infirmary he got the more he wanted to turn around and plead and beg and _force_ Ron not to do this. He decided the best he could do was help Dumbledore with the Rune and get back into his rightful universe before Ron even had a chance to enact whatever idiotic plan they dreamed up.

* * *

Apologies for the long absence. I found a plot hole, then when I couldn't immediately fix it I got writer's block. I think I've figured it out now, thanks to a visit from our favourite redhead. Let me know what you thought!


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